


As Above, So Below

by argentoswan



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, general winter isn't much better, snow queen is a you know what
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23414662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentoswan/pseuds/argentoswan
Summary: Jack Frost emerges from the ice, and there is someone there to care for him. Unfortunately, three hundred years at the hands of the Winter Court is enough to freeze anyone's heart.Or, Jack Frost is the Snow Queen's most loyal subject- until he meets E. Aster Bunnymund.
Relationships: E. Aster Bunnymund/Jack Frost
Comments: 57
Kudos: 287





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Darkness. Darkness, swirling above, below, beneath him, so he didn’t know which was up, or if there was an up at all. It was the kind of darkness that sank into one’s bones, that brought with it a cold so aching he thought his skin might be on fire, his- his whatever he had, he wasn’t sure he had skin, he-

His head broke the surface of the water. He took in a great, gasping breath, feeling cold air flood into his aching lungs. He brought his hands up to grasp at his throat, feeling shards of ice sliding off his skin as he rose from the lake like a puppet on a string.

His bare feet pressed down on the ice. He fell to his hands and knees; whatever invisible force had been pulling him up had released him, leaving him feeling too drained to move. He breathed heavily, still marveling at the novelty of it.

Finally, after what felt like several hours but was probably only seconds, he raised his eyes. It was still dark out, but a different, bright kind of darkness. He was on a frozen lake, surrounded by trees, and above him was- he stared for a long moment at the moon, hanging huge and low in the sky. Round as a ripe peach, white as the frozen ice beneath him.

He tore his eyes away long enough to stand on shaky feet. The ice was cold and slippery under his toes, but when he took a cautious step it held. He jumped when frost spread under his foot, intricate details laid delicately across the surface of the pond as if from nowhere. 

He took another step, and then another, trying to get the hang of simply walking. He paused when he spotted something dark on the ground beside him. It was a staff, a simple wooden shepherd’s crook, hooked at one end. He bent down to pick it up, nearly dropping it again when that same bright frost spread down the length of it.

He turned the staff over in his hands, feeling… _something_ in him resonate with it. It was enough to bring the first smile to his face, as he felt his cold cheeks curve with it.

He looked back at the moon. The moon looked back at him. The wind swept by, nudging his hair, the cape knotted around his neck, fresh and playful as it poked at his smile.

_Jack Frost_ , whispered a voice in his head.

He blinked, eyes still on the moon. “Jack Frost,” he said out loud. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but somehow he _knew_ that it belonged to him. 

“Jack Frost.”

Jack spun around, bare heels flush with the ice. He tightened his grip on the staff as a figure at the edge of the lake grew larger, gliding forward as though the ice was no impedence to them. 

As he watched, the figure shifted into the shape of a woman. She was pale, unnaturally so, the color of the thick chunks of hardened snow rimming the lake. Her white hair was scraped back and coiled beneath a heavy-looking crown made of ice. It was sharp and spiky, jutting about her head like rays of the sun. She was dressed in a white dress that hugged her thin body so tightly and blended so well with the layer of hoar frost coating her skin that it seemed to be one continuous sheet of ice. With the sharp gauntness of her features and her blank, wide-eyed stare, she was far from beautiful, but there was a certain intimidating grace to her that made Jack want to shrink away.

“Who are you?” he asked, ashamed when his voice came out trembling. 

She floated closer. Jack wasn’t sure she had feet underneath the swirling fabric of her dress, or if she was even touching the ground. “Don’t be afraid, child,” she said, stiff lips twitching in what could almost be a smile. Her voice cut through the wind swirling around them, sharp. “I am the Snow Queen, the ruler of winter. And I have been called to help you.”

Jack crossed his chest with his staff. “I- I’m not sure where I am.”

The Snow Queen inclined her head forward. “I know,” she said. She extended one arm, uncurling long, skinny fingers toward him. “Come. I will take care of you.”

Jack hesitated. He stared at the Snow Queen, silhouetted by the moonlight. He glanced upward at the moon, watching, waiting for that voice to come back, to whisper some kind of guidance, but-

Nothing came.

Jack looked back to the Snow Queen. She was still standing there, still as a statue, arm outstretched to him. The wind howled around them, harsher than before. 

When Jack took her hand, it was silky smooth and almost colder than it had been under the ice. Her fingers curled around his, drawing him forward.

As he watched, her face cracked into a broad smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Once, the proceedings of the court had amused Jack. The occupants and visitors who came and went were always interesting enough, and it had impressed him, initially, to see the authority that the Snow Queen wielded in her court.

It had been a long time since Jack had felt anything other than cool indifference, however, and today was no different. He was standing in his usual position beside his lady’s throne, just behind her and to the right. It was nearing Spring in the northern hemisphere, which meant most of the seasonal spirits were being relieved of their duties and returning to court for the duration of their off season. The Snow Queen- ever the inviting host- had made herself available to greet her new guests and hear any news they brought from the outside world. It had been several decades since she and Jack had last left the palace, after all.

The throne room was bustling with subdued activity. Faeries buzzed back and forth across the room, long white hair threatening to become tangled in their wings. Minor winter spirits clung to the edges of the room, congregating in small huddles to whisper amongst themselves. The more powerful spirits lurked near the center of the room, closer to the throne; Jack spotted several mahahas giggling over something, their long, knife-like fingers scratching the icy floors as they flexed broad jaws overstretched with smiles. A few yuki-onna- those who bothered to attend court, that was- drifted off to the side, gazing idly about themselves.

They were never big on socializing, anyways. 

On the other side of the throne, to the Queen’s left, stood an Amarok. Her favorite subject, after Jack, the one that she let wander freely in her inner sanctum, offering safety and purpose in exchange for its loyalty. It was a hulking beast of a wolf, with long grey hair and sharp teeth that glimmered like shards of ice when it growled.

Jack watched out of the corner of his eye as she dipped her fingers down to brush the long hair of its mane. He was always half-waiting for it to bite her hand off at the wrist. He wondered if she would bleed, or if it was just ice under all that pale skin.

“How disappointing,” the Queen mused aloud. She was gazing out at her court, face as impassive as ever. “It seems the dear general won’t be joining us today, after all.” 

Jack didn’t respond. He watched across the room as a pale blue sprite leaped up at a faerie passing overhead, swiping claws at its wings. The faerie cried out and dodged to the snickering laughter of the other spirits around it.

Suddenly, the Queen straightened up in her throne. She cocked her head, eyes drifting across the throne room as though she was gazing through the icy walls of her palace.

“My mistake,” she said. “We have a visitor.”

As if sensing the approaching presence, ripples of disquiet ran through the throne room. Conversations cut off abruptly as the sprites grouped closer together, pressing themselves nearer the wall as they turned as one to look at the doorway.

General Winter cut a striking figure as he strode into the throne room. A great, burly grey beard, a frost-coated ushanka set askew on his head. Huge black boots that almost shook the ground when he walked, threatening to knock askew the golden badges and medals pinned to the lapels of his uniform.

He opened his arms wide as he approached the throne. “ Моя леди,” he said, bowing with a flourish to her. He didn’t spare a glance for Jack, or any of the other winter spirits in the room.

“General.” The Queen’s voice was flat. “You’re late.” 

“Ah, but I have a good reason.” He straightened. His steely grey eyes were dull beneath the brim of his hat. “I bring information.”

The Queen’s nails dragged against the ice of her throne. “Oh?”

The General reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small velvet bag, which he handed over to the Queen with a bow of his head.

The Queen arched one white eyebrow. She loosened the rope holding the bag closed and turned it over in her hand. Dirt fell onto it.

Opposite Jack, the Amarok’s hackles raised, a low growl in the back of its throat.

“Hush,” the Snow Queen said, distracted by the dirt in her hand. She raised it higher, twisting her wrist to let it catch in the light. It sparkled faintly, despite its inky black color.

She stared hard for another long minute, then looked to General Winter. “Where?”

“I found it wandering in the forests just outside St. Petersburg,” the General said. He shuffled closer, inclining his head conspiratorially. “You recognize the signature as well?”

“Pitch Black,” the Snow Queen murmured, so low Jack nearly didn’t catch it. She opened the bag and slid the dirt back in smoothly. “That…  _ upstart _ .”

“Something to keep an eye on, certainly.”

The Snow Queen regarded the General carefully. “Your rooms have been prepared for you,” she said finally. “You’ll join us for dinner?”

The General swept into another bow. “I look forward to it,” he said. Only as he rose to leave did he catch Jack’s eye. His lip curled, a faint sign of the disgust he otherwise kept hidden when in front of the Queen.

As he left, the Queen pulled the rope of the bag closed again and stood. The ice that had settled on her dress flaked off, falling in sharp slivers on the ground beneath her. The throne room fell silent once more as the occupants turned to face their queen.

The Snow Queen waved one hand at them in dismissal. “Come, pet,” she said, addressing Jack without looking at him. She slipped her hand into the folds of her dress, and the bag disappeared. “Let us retire to our chambers. We have much to discuss.”

Jack waited until she had descended the steps leading up to her throne before following at a short distance behind. He kept his eyes fixed on the back of her head, and not on the staring fae around them.

X X X X X

Jack had decided long ago that he wasn’t a fan of the General.

He was too big, with twitchy hands and steely eyes that did little to bely the anger simmering under the surface. Jack had heard stories of the things he had done to the Russian soldiers, and seen first hand the things he continued to do now, as a hobby- biting winds that scrape at any exposed bit of flesh they could find, chunks of ice falling from mountaintops to crash on the people below, snow, swirling so thick the humans lost their way and never made it home.

It was no different than what the Queen enjoyed doing, but it lacked any of the nuance. Boring, in Jack’s opinion.

General Winter was still one of the most powerful winter spirits, however, which meant he enjoyed a position in the Snow Queen’s inner circle. Jack sat off to the side, perched on a harshly hewn ice chair, and watched as he and the Queen enjoyed drinks in her sitting room. 

“There are whispers,” the General said, leaning forward in his seat. “The darker spirits feel their powers stirring. They speak of shadows once more in the streets, a fresh surge of-”

“Nightmares.” The Queen tapped her long nails against the side of her glass. The red velvet pouch the General had given her laid on the table beside her, next to the glass decanter of blue absinthe. “So Pitch Black is plotting something. Hm. I cannot say I’m surprised, it has been many years since his height during the Dark Ages.”

“And many more since he has been truly feared.” The General’s smile glinted like steel.

The Snow Queen blinked, long and slow, like someone coming out of a deep freeze. “Yes,” she said. She set down her glass and picked up the velvet bag. “This, though, is new.”

“Some kind of nightmare sand?” 

The Queen opened the bag and dipped her fingers in, drawing out a pinch of what Jack had at first thought was dirt. “It appears to be derived from dreamsand,” she said.

The General reached up to readjust his hat. “From that blasted star?”

“The Sandman.” Jack watched as the Queen sprinkled the sand in the air. The particles hovered for a moment before swirling, collecting together and forming the shape of a steed. Another few seconds passed before the horse twitched, bucking its head to the side, and kicked its legs up with a whinny that made Jack’s fingers curl into the ice.

“Whatever Pitch Black is planning is sure to have repercussions for the Winter Court,” the Queen said, watching as the horse galloped in a circle in front of her. “It is characteristically impudent of him not to seek permission from me.”

The General snorted. “Pitch has never responded to your summons before. What makes you think he’ll respond now?”

A great crash from behind made the General jump and spill his drink into his lap. Both he and Jack turned to look at the mess of shattered ice on the floor; one of the sharp stalactites hanging low from the ceiling had fallen, piercing the icy floor beneath it. 

The General turned back to the Snow Queen with wide eyes. She was watching him blankly, thin lips set in a line.

“My- my apologies, my queen,” he said, setting his glass down to wipe at the alcohol on his lap. “I only meant- Pitch Black is impertinent. He has never showed deference to the Court.”

“I know.” The Queen sat back in her seat, white robes rippling. She sat back and stared at the empty fireplace, a hollow and gaping maw in the middle of the room. The horse still circling in front of her threw its head back with a loud neigh. “He will have to be… coerced into coming before me.”

The General straightened. “My lady, you have my word that I shall do everything in my-”

“Jack will do it.” 

Jack looked up from the floor in time to see the General’s mouth open, then close, rather like a fish that had just been caught and thrown onto ice. 

“But- my lady, with all due respect, I-”

“Pitch Black is known for his mind games. If I am sending someone to bring him to me, it must be someone who will never question their loyalty to me.” Seeing the expression on the General’s face, she said, “Come, dear General. Our relationship is one of my most treasured possessions, but you know as well as I how… emotional you can be at times.”

The General’s nostrils flared. “I fail to see how your… precious  _ pet  _ will be any different.” 

The Queen’s head tilted to the side, the ice on her crown catching the dim light that permeated the walls of her palace. She raised one pale hand, fingers outstretched. “Jack.”

Jack stood and crossed the room, ignoring the General’s glare. When he was close enough the Queen grabbed his wrist, pulling him close. 

“Jack has been loyal to me for many centuries,” she said. “His service is not one that I question. He would not  _ dare  _ disobey me.” A tug on his wrist had Jack bending at the waist, so they were eye level when she turned to look at him. He stared into her white eyes, so pale he could hardly tell whether she had an iris or not, as her hand came up to grip his jaw. Her nails dug into his skin, cold and sharp, like the pinpricks of needles.

“Besides,” she murmured, searching his face. “He knows the cost of failure.” 

She drew in closer, so close that their lips were nearly touching, and Jack’s breath caught in his throat. Another centimeter more and her thin lips would touch his, one small movement and-

The nails pressed on his jaw, forcing his head to one side. He closed his eyes when the Queen leaned in and kissed his cheek, delicate and gentle. 

“Find Pitch Black and bring him to Court,” she said, releasing Jack so he could stand up once more. “I want him alive, but you may be as creative as necessary with that. Oh, and if the Sandman’s dreamsand is caught up in this, you are sure to run into that quartet of do-gooders, the  _ Guardians _ .” She waved a hand dismissively. “They are disposable. All except the rabbit.” Her lips curled up in the closest to a smile Jack had seen from her in years. “It’s remarkably resilient. If it should cause you any trouble, report to me and I will… take care of it.”

Jack nodded, still reeling from their nearness seconds ago. “Yes, my lady.”

“And what am I to do?” the General asked, looking sour.

“Oh, my dear General.” The Queen lifted her hand, watching as the sand horse settled on it. As soon as it had grown comfortable in her palm, she closed her fingers around it, fast. It dispersed in a puff of sand. “With Jack gone, I’ll need someone to amuse me here.”

Jack was faintly pleased at the alarmed expression on the General’s face.


	3. Chapter 3

Aster was not having a great day. 

He had been woken from his post-Easter nap (yet again) by the Aurora, which was jarring enough without the shit-show of having to open his tunnels in the bitter cold outside of the Pole. It had been decades since Aster had last bothered with his coats or any clothing except for his bandolier, and not even his old clothes would have been enough to stave off the chill from the snow.

All that, and enduring North’s awful jokes on top, to find out that they had been summoned because Pitch  _ might  _ be back. Reports had come in about some Fearlings lurking in the forests of Maine, and that had been enough for North to sound the alarm.

“Am not usually so trigger happy,” he had said before slapping his gut with a broad grin. “But am feeling it is something we should investigate. Feel it in my-”

“Oh, rack  _ off _ , mate.”

Thus, Aster was sent off in his tunnels to investigate, because Tooth and Sandy needed to get back to work, and North was- well, North- and anyways, Aster was already up, what did it  _ matter  _ that it had only been a week since Easter and he was still exhausted?

Whatever. He would pop into Maine, ensure that there was nothing odder than usual going on there, and pop off back to the Warren to nap for another full week. At this point he had earned it.

“Bloody North and his bloody Aurora,” Aster muttered to himself as he ran, paws hitting the damp earth hard. “Ought to take the bloody button away from him, that’s what we ought to do.”

Honestly,  _ Fearlings  _ in Maine. They hadn’t heard from Pitch since the Dark Ages; what the bloody hell would he be doing mucking about in Maine? 

Aster hopped up onto the surface in the middle of the forest North had received the information from. His ears darted about to listen, quick, with the practice of someone who has had to be on their guard before.

As he had expected, the forest was empty except for the towering red spruce and the birds flitting amongst their branches. 

Aster snorted, sitting back on his haunches to take a moment and re-orient himself. There weren’t any Fearlings in this forest. Still, it wouldn’t take him long to do a cursory check, and at least that way he could tell North to stop trusting that damn belly of his when it came to major decisions. 

Aster set off at an easy pace, not bothering to hurry anywhere. If he had to wander about the state of Maine for a little bit, he was at least going to enjoy it. Spring was ripening here, which meant the leaves on the trees had come in thick and green. Bright sunlight dappled through the canopy, brushing the fallen leaves that coated the forest floors.

Huh. It had been so long since Aster had left his Warren just to poke around somewhere else. He had nearly forgotten how beautiful nature was.

When the first noises crinkled in the brush, Aster had his boomerangs out in a second. He crouched down, ears flicking back and forth to try and track it, the rustle of the leaves, the- there, several yards away and past a high clump of bushes, the thud of something hitting the forest floor, loud.

He bounded forward, drawing to a stop behind the shelter of the bushes. Pressing his ears flat so as not to give himself away, he poked up just enough to peer over the leaves and assess the situation.

His heart dropped into his tail, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing aloud.

It was a Fearling, clear as night. This one was in the form of a horse, with limbs hewn of dark sand. They had glowing eyes, which- okay, that one was new, and probably bad, but everything else was the same, and  _ fuck North was actually right. _

Aster tightened his grip on his boomerangs and prepared himself to jump. He had just lowered himself back, poised to leap, when something else dropped into the clearing behind the Fearling. 

It was a humanoid spirit, small and thin, with a black hood drawn over their face. Aster watched, startled, as they twirled a wooden staff, regarding the Fearling in front of them with an expression Aster couldn’t see. 

The Fearling threw its head back with a whinny that made the hair along Aster’s spine stand up. It charged towards the spirit, and before Aster could move, could step forward to try and help, the spirit was in the air, leaping far higher than they should have been able to and touching down so lightly on the other side of the Fearling they hardly crinkled the leaves. They twirled their staff again and then raised it at the horse. As it reared around and started to rush them again, a bright burst of white rushed from the end of the staff and collided with the Fearling, sending it back into the trunk of a tree. 

The clearing fell silent. The spirit stared at the white mass plastered to the tree, and Aster stared at the spirit.

Finally, because he was the Mantle of Spring and would  _ not  _ allow himself to be struck speechless by an unknown spirit, Aster sheathed his boomerangs and stepped out of the bushes.

“Whoa, there,” he said, raising both paws when the spirit spun around to point that staff at him. “Don’t get yerself in a tizzy, I’m not here to pick a fight. Y’alright there, mate? Those Fearlings can pack a punch.”

The spirit stayed crouched there, staff pointed at Aster for another long moment. Then they slowly lowered it, rising to stand and stare at Aster from beneath their hood. Aster still couldn’t see their face. 

When the spirit didn’t answer, Aster tried a different approach. “Though it looks like you can, too,” he said. He leaned to look around the spirit at the remains of the Fearling on the tree. “Pack a punch, that is. You really- is that ice?”

Aster could see the remains of the Fearling’s sands through the ice encasing it, plastering it against the bark of the tree trunk. He felt a frown curl across his face. “How’dja do that?”

“You’re a rabbit.” The spirit’s voice was soft, and definitely male. 

Aster snorted. “That’s a bit rude, don’tcha think, mate?”

The spirit planted his staff in the leaves, both hands wrapped around the crook, and didn’t respond.

“What’re you supposed to be, then?” Aster looked back at the ice, itching to get closer and take a look at it. It was obviously the work of some kind of winter spirit, but Aster had never heard of a seasonal spirit with that kind of power, let alone one that could take on a Fearling and win. He glanced back at the spirit, at his black hood, and noticed the white embroidery around the edges, the jagged swirls. He had only seen a design like that once.

Aster straightened, the pieces slotting together in his mind all at once. He could have cursed himself.

“Jack Frost,” he said.

The spirit shifted, hands tightening around his staff. “How do you know my name?”

Aster felt his fingers twitch back towards his boomerangs. It had been foolish of him to put them away. “Lucky guess,” he said. “What’re you doing here, Frost?”

Frost’s hooded face tilted. “I was looking for Pitch Black,” he said. 

“Oh yeah? And what’s the Queen want with him?”

“To talk.”

Aster knew he wasn’t able to keep the disbelief off his face. “Right,” he said. “Well, you can run back and tell her that she can stay right out of this. Pitch isn’t in her jurisdiction.” 

A strong breeze rushed through the clearing, ruffling Frost’s hood but not displacing it. “You are a… Guardian?”

Aster really shouldn’t have put his weapons away. “Yeah. And?”

Frost shifted where he stood, bare feet shifting on the leaves. “I was sent to capture Pitch Black,” he said, voice almost too quiet to hear over the wind. “Do not get in my way.”

Aster opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off when a swirl of snow appeared out of nowhere and surrounded Frost. He threw up one arm to block his eyes from the ice whipping in the air, and when he lowered it again Frost was gone, leaving nothing but the icy remains of the Fearling behind. 

“Bloody show pony,” he said, irritated.

X X X X X

“Jack Frost?” Tooth blinked several times, long eyelashes fluttering. “But he never leaves the Winter Court!”

“Well he is now,” Aster snapped. “And it’s a bad omen if I ever heard one.”

“He is saying the Snow Queen wishes to speak with Pitch,” North said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Is curious, no?”

“Highly doubt she just wants a chinwag with him, mate.” Sandy threw up several violent images, and Aster snorted. “Seconded.”

“But why does she want Pitch?” Tooth asked, wings whirring behind her. They had all gathered in chairs around the fire in North’s private rooms, but halfway through the conversation she had gotten too jittery and stood up to fly in place. “He’s not of winter, is he?”

“Is not,” North agreed. “But, is of fear. Snow Queen likes fear. Am thinking it is that?”

“If the Snow Queen sent her little guard dog after him, Pitch must seem like a real threat to her,” Aster said, leaning back against the sofa’s cushions. “I say we let her take him. He deserves a bit of a chill, in my opinion.” 

Sandy threw up several images to express his disapproval, glaring at Aster. 

“Sandy is right,” North said. “Letting Pitch fall into Snow Queen’s hands before we have chance to speak to him could be disastrous.”

“And what’s the alternative, mate? Invite him over for afternoon tea?” At the thoughtful look on North’s face, Aster snapped, “That was a joke.”

“You said he held a conversation with you,” Tooth said. “Maybe he’s reasonable.”  
“Reasonable? Jack Frost? No one who does dirty work for the _Snow Queen_ is reasonable, Tooth. More than likely he’ll slip an ice pick between my ribs when I turn my back on him.” 

“Jack Frost is dangerous,” North admitted. Then he brightened. “But, Bunny is more dangerous!”

Aster crossed his arms and glared. “Whaddya mean by  _ Bunny _ , mate? I’ve already done my dues.”

“You’ve already spoken with him, Bunny,” Tooth said, big eyes apologetic. “You’ve got a better chance than any of us at getting through to him. Besides, I can’t leave my girls for that long.”

Sandy nodded and summoned a golden whip, miming his job.

“Yes, and Christmas preparations are year round! Easter is over. You have time off for many, many months,” North said, beaming at him.

Aster pointed at him. “Watch it, mate.”

“Is settled, then. We will all continue looking for Pitch Black, to hopefully speak with him before Snow Queen can. Bunny will try to have discussion with Jack Frost. Is great plan!” 

“If this takes longer than a week, I’m quitting,” Aster muttered. 

X X X X X

The next time Aster saw Frost, it was on the Sutherland coast. It was a chance interaction, and one that caught Aster off guard no matter how much he’d been preparing to see the bloke again. 

He was wearing that dark hood again, pulled low over his face so Aster couldn’t see it. His hands, wrapped around the staff, were thin and pale as snow. Aster wondered idly what he looked like; no outsider had ever been to the Snow Queen’s court and come out of it sane enough to spread the tale. 

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Aster asked, walking up behind him.

Frost’s fingers twitched on his staff, but he gave no other sign that he had heard Aster. He continued gazing out at the blue-grey sea, close enough to the high tide that the white froth nearly brushed his bare toes.

“Rabbit.” His voice was flat. Empty.

“Bunny, actually,” Aster said. He drew up beside Frost, several feet away for his own personal comfort. Who knew when the guy could snap? “Easter Bunny.”

Frost didn’t respond. The waves were a soothing noise, loud enough to drown some of the awkwardness from the interaction. Inwardly, Aster cursed North for this silly plan. What was he even supposed to say to this guy? 

“What’s your deal, then?” he said finally.

Another wave washed to shore, dampening the sand around Frost’s toes. Aster watched as a thin layer of frost spread out around them. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, no one’s seen you outside the Winter Court in decades. Why’d she send you out now?”

Frost’s staff dug into the frost and the sand with a wet crunch. “She requests Pitch Black’s presence at Court.”

“And she thinks you can take him on?”

A sharp twist of his staff fractured the ice. “I can.”

“Right, right.” A brisk breeze brushed past, too cold for the coast at spring. Aster repressed a shiver, wishing his fur had come in thicker this year. “There ain’t any Fearlings around these parts right now. What’re you doing here?”

Frost lifted his head, marginally, not enough for Aster to see anything beneath it. “I do not answer to you.”

Aster huffed, already frustrated. Yeah. He was definitely not patient enough for this job.

“Just tryin’ to have a bit of conversation, mate,” he said. “If you’re not up to it, fine.”

He turned and walked away, ready to open up one of his tunnels and head back to the comfort of his warren (out of sight of Frost, of course; he didn’t want to chance the bugger trying to follow him). The sound of the waves was so loud he nearly didn’t hear Frost’s words over them.

“I like the ocean.”

Aster started. He turned back in time to see Frost lift his chin, and the glint of eyes- a bright deep blue, shockingly bright amongst all that black fabric- and Aster felt his heart stutter in his chest.

Before he could respond, there was a cold gust of wind, a blur of snow and frost, and then nothing but a thin layer of ice where Frost had been standing.

“Well,” Aster said out loud, watching as the water washed over the ice, warm enough that when it pulled back again, it had melted into nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment down below to let me know what you think! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: brief, non-descriptive dubious con.

Jack had spent enough time with the Snow Queen to know how to read her moods despite the icy exterior she presented. 

It was lucky for the other spirits of the Court that she was, for the time being, keeping her temper confined to her private chambers. Jack stood off to the side and watched as she swept across the room, murmuring to herself, hard, quiet words that Jack didn’t bother tuning into.

She strode over to the far wall, where a large, flat sheet of ice hung. It was long and smooth, and clear enough that her own reflection bounced back at her like a mirror. Jack could see himself in the corner of it, the black hood pulled down so he could stare blankly back into his own flat eyes. 

“Show me Pitch Black,” she snapped.

Her own reflection glimmered back at her, then began to morph, twisting and swirling. The mirror darkened at the edges, coagulating until the only thing left was a circle of twisting shadows that obscured anything else from vision.

She stared, silent. The temperature in the room was so low even Jack’s breaths were visible in the cold. Then, abruptly, she raised her hand and slashed it in the air, dispersing the shadows and leaving the mirror clear once more.

“In hiding, hm,” she murmured to herself. She turned sharply to regard Jack. “You must redouble your search efforts. I want Pitch Black  _ dragged  _ to this Court if necessary. I will not tolerate this impudence.”

Jack didn’t nod or give any indication that he had agreed. The Snow Queen didn’t need him to agree to know that he would follow her orders. 

She swept back across the room, white dress brushing against the icy floor. She spun to drop down into her chair, fingers curled around the arms. 

“The Guardians have put out the search for him,” she said. “Have you come across any?”

Jack shifted where he stood, not used to having to speak in her presence anymore. “Just the Easter Bunny.”

The Queen’s head turned to look at him so fast he almost expected her neck to crack. “The rabbit?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me  _ immediately _ ?” 

Jack clasped his hands behind his back. He always left his staff in the Queen’s care when he was back at Court; she only allowed him to take it when he left to carry out one of her orders. It had been a long time since he had really used it, but having it with him the last few days had been… something new. 

“It didn’t get in the way,” he said.

“It will.” The Queen stared across the room at her reflection in the mirror, her face expressionless but with a hard edge to it. “That  _ animal  _ never did know its place.” She looked at Jack, her white eyes wide with irritation. “The moment it steps out of line, inform me and I will dispose of it as necessary.”

Jack gazed back at her, his expression blank. After a long moment, she sighed, and extended one hand in his direction.

“Come, pet,” she said, and his feet moved automatically, bringing him across the room to her.

She reached for his face, and Jack obligingly kneeled, lowering himself to the floor at her feet. She took his chin into her hand, brushing her nails across his skin, pulling him forward as she leaned in to regard him closely.

“My darling pet,” she said, and leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, just near enough his lips to make him tense up. He stayed still under her ministrations as her cold lips moved upwards, brushing against his forehead. Her hand wandered into his hair, raking through it harsh enough that it tugged his head back, exposing his neck to her roaming fingers. “If only all of my subjects were as obedient as you,” she said, drawing a sharp nail across his throat, pinpricks of pressure that made Jack’s breath catch in his throat. 

When she rose from her chair, bringing him with her and leading him across the room to the icy bed, he went with her quietly.

X X X X X

Jack wasn’t sure what to make of the rabbit. The Easter Bunny, he had called himself. 

Jack had seen a lot of different spirits come through the Winter Court. Humanoid ones, anthropomorphic ones with lots of tails and sharp teeth. He hadn’t seen one quite like the Easter Bunny, though, with that much intelligence in their eyes. Green eyes, green like the leaves on the trees of Maine.

He had seen him… was it three times, now? The forest, the ocean. A few days ago, they had had a brief interaction up in Canada, when Jack had been chasing a stray nightmare. He should have reported him to the Snow Queen earlier.

He hadn’t.

Jack brushed the thought from his mind and peered down at the forest floor below. The Snow Queen had been feeding him any intelligence she had gotten as to where Pitch Black’s minions, the horses made from nightmare sand- Fearlings, the Easter Bunny had called them- were congregating. She had received several reports from a small town in Pennsylvania. So Jack had flown there earlier this morning, to perch in the trees and wait. He was well-suited to this kind of work, to the watching and waiting. The Snow Queen had drilled stillness into him centuries ago, had taught him how to sit and watch, as stiff as a glacier. It was mindless work. That was the only kind of work he enjoyed.

Still, it had been several hours already and he hadn’t seen a single sign of them. He shifted on the branch, bare toes curling into the rough bark. At least it was nice here. He didn’t often get to see any season other than winter. He could count on a single hand the number of times he’d been out during spring. He could feel the forest thrumming around him, alive and fresh after the snow had melted. He had expected it to be draining, but every coo of a bird or whisper of an insect flying near his ear sent a strange feeling thrumming through him.

Another hour passed before there was any movement below. He leaned forward, farther than he should have been able to even with his sense of balance, and watched as a tiny shape popped out of the bushes.

It was a tiny human. A child, male, with light brown hair and freckled skin. He was humming to himself as he shoved his way through the thickets, head buried in a large book he seemed unwilling to put down even as the uneven forest floor threatened to trip him up.

Jack relaxed back onto his branch and watched curiously. He had never seen a child before. He knew the Snow Queen had kidnapped them to be her own, once upon a time, but that had abated once she had Jack to focus on. 

It was late in the day, and shadows had begun to creep out from behind the trees. Jack watched the child maneuver far below him, and felt a faint frown cross his face. Weren’t children supposed to be in bed at this time? At least inside. There was something wrong about seeing a child wandering around the forest as it slowly darkened around them, but the boy below didn’t seem to mind.

A flicker of movement drew Jack’s attention away from the child. He turned his head minutely, staring hard into the gathering shadows in the underbrush. The forest was still, quiet except for the boy’s continued humming, and then- there. A dark mass with a flicker of gold in the middle. 

Jack tightened his grip on his staff as the shape darted forward, brushing past the boy and disappearing into the bushes on the other side. The child gasped, dropping his book. He stared around with big brown eyes, turning this way and that, searching the shadows for something he couldn’t see. 

Slowly, the boy bent down, reaching for his book, and another shadow rushed past his back, knocking him off balance. He sprawled out on the leaves, scrambling to grab his book, expression twisted with a terror that made something in Jack’s chest clench. 

Jack hopped off the branch, landing light and silent on the forest floor. He crouched down, narrowing his eyes to peer into the shadows surrounding the boy. There were several shapes moving within them now. Several Fearlings, then. 

A branch broke behind Jack, and he spun around, raising his staff- only to lower it when he realized it was the Easter Bunny. The rabbit was glaring at him with those bright green eyes, crouched in a position as though he were about to pounce. He had his two boomerangs, which he normally had sheathed, out. 

“Don’t touch him,” he growled.

Jack’s frown deepened. The rabbit was normally- not quite peaceful, but not so openly hostile, around him. 

Before he could investigate anymore into that line of thought, there was a fearful cry from behind him. Jack turned on his heel and leapt, letting the wind gather around him and propel him forward even as the rabbit shouted behind him. 

He blasted ice at the Fearling just as it was moving in to strike at the boy. It whinnied loudly, twisting in the air so that the attack missed it by inches.

The boy was still on the ground, crying openly now as he scrambled away on all fours. Another Fearling leapt out from the shadows towards him and Jack stepped in between them, bringing his staff down in a slashing motion that cut the Fearling in two. The black sand dissipated, dropping to the forest floor and sinking into the ground.

Another whinny from behind him had Jack spinning around. A horse leapt at him, but before he could raise his staff in defense something flew past and cut through the Fearling’s neck. As the creature dissolved, Jack turned to see the Easter Bunny catch the boomerang, glaring at the shadows.

That seemed to be enough for the other Fearlings. Jack heard huffs of air as they retreated, the shadows around them easing back until it was just the encroaching natural darkness of the night surrounding them. The forest fell silent except for the snuffles of the boy on the ground as he continued to cry.

Jack turned around, peering at the child from under his hood. He looked terrified, but unhurt.

“You saved him.” Jack glanced at the Easter Bunny, who was staring at him with something like surprise on his face. Before Jack could respond, a tiny, tear-filled voice choked out, “You’re the- the Easter Bunny!” 

The rabbit turned to look at the child, who was staring up at him in total shock. He hadn’t looked at Jack. He wouldn’t. Jack was invisible to him. 

“Yes I am,” the Easter Bunny said to the boy. “Y’alright?”

The boy nodded and scrubbed at his nose with his sleeve. “You- you saved me! What was that?” 

The rabbit glanced at Jack again. “How ‘bout we get you home,” he said, still looking at Jack. “It’s getting dark.”

The boy nodded again and scrambled to his feet, grabbing his book and clutching it close to his chest. “Oh, I just knew you were real! Wait until I tell Monty, he’s gonna lose it!”

Jack took a step back, and then another one. He should go, he should return to Court, but- he knew he could trust the Easter Bunny to bring the kid back to his home. He knew very little about the Easter Bunny, but he was supposed to like children, right? The kid would be alright.

As the boy bounced on his feet in excitement, apparently completely recovered from his terror, the Easter Bunny turned to Jack. It looked like he was about to say something, and Jack- Jack had had enough for today, his head felt muddled and every time he looked at the kid his chest clenched tightly and he wasn’t sure why, and- and he should go. 

He brought his staff down on the ground, feeling the squeeze of magic in his core like the Queen had taught him so many years ago. He saw the rabbit’s green eyes through the swirl of snow he had summoned, and then he was gone. 

X X X X X

“Why’d you do it?”

Jack wasn’t surprised anymore that the rabbit had found him. He always seemed to, even though Jack didn’t quite know how. He didn’t even know how he traveled. He wasn’t there one moment, and then he was, hovering several feet from Jack as though he was scared of him. 

Jack didn’t respond. He stayed where he was, crouched on the edge of the cliff and looking out over the ocean. He was pretty sure this one was called the Pacific. He didn’t have much experience with oceans, but there was something almost nice about watching the waves far below, a feeling that felt foreign to him. 

He saw the rabbit approach out of the corner of his eye, coming to sit down on the rocks beside him. He was closer than he usually got, close enough that Jack could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. 

“You brought him home?” Jack asked, his voice soft from disuse. The question had been eating at him the past few days, and although he loathed carrying conversations, he was curious enough to do it anyways. 

“Yeah,” the rabbit said. “Mite scared still, but not hurt.”

Jack let his staff drag along the rocks under his feet, watching frost spread from the point of contact. 

“He has you to thank for that,” the rabbit continued. He shifted, one paw straying close to the frost patterns. Jack looked at it from under his hood, at the silver-blue fur. “Mighta saved his life. I didn’t even see all those Fearlings hiding there.”

Jack didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what to say. 

“I thought the Snow Queen kidnapped kids. I thought you were gonna-”

“The Queen ordered me to find Pitch Black and hunt Fearlings,” Jack interrupted, because all this talk of  _ saving  _ was beginning to aggravate him. He hadn’t been trying to save the boy specifically, he had just been following orders. “That’s what I did.”

He stood, preparing to go. The Queen thought he was still out hunting, and he was pushing it already as it was. He knew that she was getting annoyed with how often he was out; she was only putting up with it in the hopes that he would drag Pitch Black, kicking and screaming, back to her to be punished. 

“Wait,” the rabbit said. Jack paused as he stood, gripping his staff tightly. “Wait, I- I haven’t given you a fair crack o’ the whip, mate.”

Jack frowned, and some of his confusion must have bled through because the rabbit clarified, “I mighta been a bit rude to you, I mean. I just- I mean, you know the stories people say about you and the Queen, yeah? But you saved that kid when you didn’t have to. And I’m grateful for that, so. Yeah.” 

Jack… wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“I was following orders.”

“Yeah, but- something tells me the Queen wouldn’t have cared to save that kid. But you did.” The rabbit tilted his head, as though curious. “Why?” 

Jack shook his head, and took a step away. When he left this time, the rabbit didn’t call after him to stop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment down below letting me know what you think :)) hope you're having a good day!


	5. Chapter 5

Aster looked over his cards, trying to keep his focus on the game. He should have been able to; he had had the better part of a week to mull things over by himself, and had come to North’s to try and distract himself from it all. From considering what had happened that day in the woods, with the Fearling, the child. And Jack Frost all wrapped up in the middle of it.

Of course, the fact that North was a dirty cheat didn’t help him focus at all.

“There aren’t five aces in the deck, ya bloody goober,” Aster snapped as North laid down another set with a flourish.

“Is now,” North said, beaming at him. “Am almost winning, Bunny!”

Bunny scowled and threw his cards down on the table. “I’m not playing with a cheat.”

North frowned. “You are grumpy today,” he said. “Grumpier than usual, that is.”

“Bugger off.”

North raised his burly eyebrows. He started sweeping the cards on the table together, pushing them back into a pile, and Aster  _ definitely  _ saw too many aces floating around in there.

“Alright,” North said. “What is the matter?”

“Nothin’.” When North just looked at him wryly, Aster sighed. “Fine. I’m still thinkin’ about Frost, alright?”

He expected North to laugh, but all he got was a faint glimmer in his eyes. “Thinking about him still,” he said, knocking the cards against the wooden table to straighten them. “One might think you have a crush.”

Aster looked at him, flat, and that seemed enough to chastise North. 

“It doesn’t add up, North,” Aster said. “I mean, he’s Jack  _ bloody  _ Frost. Right hand man to the Snow Queen, never leaves the Winter Court unless it’s to spread blizzards or hunt people down to drag back to his Queen, yada yada. But he protected that kid from the Fearlings. He didn’t have to; I didn’t see them coming, and it wouldn’t have been his fault if they’d gotten to him. But he just-” Aster waved his paws in the air, trying to put to words what it had been like to watch him swoop in on the defense like he had. “I thought he was gonna snatch the kid up, you know?”

“Is typical of Snow Queen,” North said with a heavy nod. Then he paused. “Although, have not heard tell of her doing so in long time.”

“Still did it, though,” Aster said, thinking darkly of the stories he had heard, of the Snow Queen’s kisses- one to numb the cold, two to make the child forget their home, three to kill. 

“Yes.” North set the cards aside and leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands over his stomach as he regarded Aster. “I do not have answer for you, friend. Perhaps Jack Frost is not as cold as Snow Queen?”

“Anyone who serves in her court is a right asshole, if you ask me.”

North shrugged. “I do not have answer,” he repeated. “Sounds like you must speak with this Jack Frost more.”

“The bugger won’t say more than a few words at a time.”

“Bunny.” North actually looked disappointed in him. The  _ audacity _ . “Where is fighting spirit? The Bunny I used to know could charm the pants off of moose when he wanted to.”

“That,” Aster said dryly, even as the gears started turning in his head, “is absolutely  _ not  _ the right saying.”

X X X X X

When Aster saw Jack Frost next, it was in- of all places- Southern California.

The Santa Barbara coast wasn’t where Aster would normally expect to find a winter spirit, but with Frost’s seemingly strange affinity for the ocean, perhaps it wasn’t that odd. Aster had been prepared for a trek through the snow, or maybe a blizzard, so he couldn’t really complain about the choice in scenery.

Not bothering with preamble, he marched right up to where the spirit was crouched and dropped down to sit beside him. “Ever try surfing?” he asked.

Frost’s shoulders tensed beneath his hood. His head turned marginally, but he didn’t respond, which Aster had come to expect.

“Surfing’s big down under,” Aster continued. “Australia, I mean. All sorts of beach bums wandering around. You seem to like the ocean well enough, maybe it would suit you.” Aster frowned. “Unless the water’s too warm. Can you go in warm water?”

Frost’s response was slow and quiet. “I haven’t tried.”

“Huh,” Aster said. “Well, you can probably go surfing in colder climates, too. Dunno the rules, never tried. Wet fur and all that.” 

There was a long pause. “What do you want?” Frost asked finally.

Aster shrugged. “Just fancied a bit of a chinwag, I guess.” 

He sensed Frost’s confusion, but didn’t answer it, just to force him into saying- “Chinwag?”

“Aussie slang,” Aster said. “I wanted to chat with you.” 

“Why?” 

“Well,” Aster said. They were sitting in the sand, which definitely wasn’t going to be great for his fur later. Frost was sitting cross-legged, his staff laying across his knees. “Dunno. Why’d you save that kid?”

“I didn’t.”

“You did, mate. Not sayin’ it’s a bad thing- I already thanked you for it- but the Snow Queen would have let the Fearling get him, or snatched him up herself. But you didn’t.”

Aster probably should have been a little more careful about badmouthing Frost’s- mistress?- but the other spirit didn’t seem to care enough to be insulted. Or at least, he didn’t say anything about it.

“I don’t wish ill upon children,” he said quietly. 

“Well,” Aster said, choosing his next words carefully. “Makes you a bit of a rarity around your parts, then, doesn’t it?”

Frost didn’t respond. Aster gave it several tense moments before he opened his mouth to- apologize, maybe? he wasn’t sure what- when suddenly Frost doubled over where he sat, clutching at his stomach. 

“Wha-” Aster asked, startled, as Frost jumped to his feet. He was still grabbing at his stomach, hunched over as though in pain.

“Have to go,” he said, his voice tight. “Goodbye, rabbit.”

Aster turned his face away from the swirl of ice. Did the bloke have to have such dramatic exits  _ all the time _ ?

“I’m a bunny,” he said to the empty coast when the snow had abated. He huffed, looking down at the sand already stuck in his fur.

Alright. That hadn’t gone  _ entirely  _ according to plan. 

X X X X X

Aster had nearly forgotten that he was _ meant  _ to be searching for Pitch, and not just chasing Jack Frost from continent to continent. In his head, it had become something of a game- track Frost down to wherever he was hunting Fearlings or just sitting and staring at nothing, try to coerce him into a conversation where the other spirit would say little more than a few words at a time, and then shake ice out of his fur from Frost’s abrupt departure.

It was a predictable cycle, if a frustrating one, and Aster had all but forgotten his original mission. That was, until he tracked Frost down to a clearing in a Canadian forest and spotted the rusty bed and the dark hole underneath it.

Frost was beside it, staring down into the darkness. Aster came up beside him, keeping his footsteps loud on the crunching leaves so as not to sneak up on the bloke. He didn’t want to get an icicle to the face for surprising him.

“Pitch’s lair,” Aster said. He crouched down next to Frost, looking down at the shadows. “Haven’t seen an entrance pop up in centuries.” 

Frost’s head shifted marginally to look at Aster. “Rabbit.”

“Bunny,” Aster corrected, shifting to get a closer look at the darkness. “What’s your plan, then?”

“My plan,” Frost said slowly, “is to bring Pitch Black to the Snow Queen. You will not get in my way.”

“Not a very comprehensive plan, but I suppose it will do.” 

“Go away, rabbit.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Aster said. “See, I’ve dealt with Pitch before. I know how he works. Do you?” When Frost didn’t respond, Aster continued, “Thought so. You’re a powerful enough bloke, and you can obviously take on a couple’a Fearlings, but Pitch is a whole other story.” 

“I don’t need your  _ help _ .” 

Aster shrugged. “Don’t call it helping, then,” he said. “Call it a race. First to Pitch wins.” 

Frost paused for a long moment, so still beside Aster he might have been carved from the ice he controls. “Fine,” he said. “A  _ race _ .”

Aster blinked, and then Frost was gone, disappeared down the hole.

“Bloody cheat,” Aster said, scrambling to follow. 

It was a short drop down into the tunnel. Aster landed on all fours on the wet stone floor, pressed down in a defensive crouch. He looked around, ears perked for sound, picking up water droplets dripping from the ceiling like they were in some kind of sewer (and they might be, at that). It smelled damp down here, like hot, heavy humidity, a scent that would sink into his fur and be a nightmare to get out. 

At least he had his vision to be thankful for. His eyes adjusted easily to the near-darkness, enough that he could see Frost a few feet ahead of him, staff held at the ready as he peered into the inky blackness.

Aster stood and walked forward, pulling out his boomerangs as he did. “One good thing about bein’ a bunny, mate,” he said in a low voice as he passed him. “We’ve got  _ great  _ vision.”

All he got in return was a faint huff, which made him grin even though Frost wouldn’t see. 

The tunnel was long, and low enough that Aster was afraid that his ears would brush against the wet ceiling. It was an eerie mirror-image of his own tunnels, which were warm and bright and didn’t smell like the ugly side of modern-day sewage. Aster walked carefully, listening for any signs of approaching nightmares. He could hear Frost following along behind him, and made sure to keep one boomerang poised to defend himself from that direction if necessary.

It felt like hours before Aster sensed the tunnel opening up in front of them. They crept to the mouth of the tunnel, and Pitch’s lair opened up before them- still dim, but bright enough to make out the general landscape. It was a gaping cavern hewn of stone, all shades of blacks and greys. The only decorations were the iron cages- thankfully empty- hanging from the ceiling, swaying with some nonexistent breeze that made the chains squeak unpleasantly. 

Aster paused, wrinkling his nose when his foot came down in a puddle. Despite himself he felt a thrum of fear run through him, which he quickly pressed down. He wasn’t about to be scared of  _ Pitch _ . 

Frost drew up alongside Aster. He was crouched over as though ready to pounce, staff held in both hands like a spear. His hood was pulled low over his face, making him look like one of the shadows crawling up the walls beside him.

“Pitch is in there?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Aster said, casting a look across the cavern. It  _ looked  _ empty, but looks were deceiving in Pitch’s domain. “If he sensed us coming, then he’s probably in there somewhere. He’s good at hiding.” 

Frost shifted his staff in his hands. “Good,” he said.

And then he jabbed his staff down at the puddle around Aster’s feet.

Aster hissed, more out of surprise than anything, as thick ice shot up his feet. It was dark and thick and cold, and when he tried to yank himself out of it his feet wouldn’t move.

“Strewth, what’re you  _ doin’,  _ Frost?” 

“Stay here, rabbit,” Frost said, and then he was gone, slinking off into the cavern.

Aster muttered curse words to himself. He bent down and tried to break the ice with his hands, but his claws slid across the surface of it without making a dent. He raised his boomerang, prepared to wack it until it gave, and then hesitated. If he was here, Pitch would hear that, and no doubt he’d  _ delight  _ at having Aster in such a compromised position.

_ Bloody Jack Frost!  _ And here Aster had been, trying to convince himself that the bloke was halfway decent! 

He settled for trying to pull his feet up through sheer force as he raised his head and glared into the cavern. He watched Frost creep across the wide, empty room, low to the ground, staff at the ready. 

When the first shadows began stirring, Aster opened his mouth to call out a warning- and then closed it, because he wasn’t too keen on giving his position away just to help Frost out. Bugger that. 

The shadows in the room gathered together, congealed in the darkness behind Frost. Just when Aster’s resolve was cracking and he was readying himself to shout out to him, to warn him, Frost spun on his heel and fired into the center of the shadowy mass. 

Huh. Keen instincts on that one.

The attack passed easily through the fog, which parted to let it through and came back together when it was done. Laughter, deep and rich, came from each corner of the room, so that Aster couldn’t tell where it was originating from. Aster felt his hackles raise as a familiar voice rang out.

“Jack Frost.” Pitch sounded smug. “Took you long enough to find me, didn’t it?”

Frost rose, planting his staff on the ground. Aster could have shaken him in frustration. 

“Pitch Black.” His voice was soft, but it carried in the echoic chamber. “The Snow Queen requests your presence at the Winter Court.”

“Does she, now.” The shadows swept to the other side of the room, and Frost turned to follow it, head bowed low under his hood. “Will she provide me the courtesy of telling me why?” 

“Once you present yourself.”

“Hm,” Pitch said, as though he was thinking about it. “No, I don’t think I will. I’m not a winter spirit, Frost. I do not answer to your Queen.”

“Everyone answers to the Queen,” Frost said, his voice as flat as ever. 

“Well, that’s your opinion,” Pitch said, his voice a purr. “But unfortunately, I will not be going with you today.” 

Did Frost lace his ice with iron or something? Aster was yanking frantically at his feet now, boomerang twitching in his hand. He couldn’t even feel his toes twitch within them, although they weren’t as cold as he’d feared they’d be. 

“You  _ will  _ appear before the Queen.”

“Huh,” Pitch said. “You say that so confidently, and yet I can taste the fear between your words. It’s quite delicious, too. You aren’t even scared of  _ me  _ right now- no, you’re scared of something else. You’re  _ terrified  _ of it.”

A looming silhouette grew behind Frost as if it were his own shadow, all slick hair with a sharp nose. Frost spun and fired at it, but the shadow just dissipated again with a laugh. 

“Poor Jack Frost,” Pitch said. “Scared of failure, hm? Or- no, that’s not quite it. You’re scared of what will happen  _ if  _ you fail. You’re scared of… going back empty-handed and having to face the consequences.”

A single Fearling emerged from the shadows, neighing loudly as it charged at Frost. Frost easily sidestepped it, spinning on his heel to shoot ice at it that sliced neatly through it, bringing it down. 

“Don’t deny it, Frost.” Another Fearling leapt out of nowhere. Frost rolled out of the way, just narrowly avoiding being trampeled as the Fearling disappeared back into the darkness. “I am the King of Fears. I know how to sense them. I know yours, your deepest fear, and I can  _ taste  _ it. Oh, your nightmares are going to be so  _ delicious _ , Frost.” 

Aster’s hearing picked up something that might have been Frost growling, and then the winter spirit was swinging his staff around, spraying ice in a wide arc. It shot out of the end of his staff, sharp, glinting in the dim lighting. It was an impressive display, but after a moment’s silence Pitch’s smooth voice started up again, much louder than before.

“Poor Jack Frost,” he repeated. And then a figure appeared behind Frost, one that Aster would have recognized anywhere. Pitch’s teeth shone yellow from across the room. “Let me  _ see  _ your fear.”

He reached up and pulled down Frost’s hood in one smooth move.

Aster got the impression of white- white hair, pale skin- as Frost brought his staff around like a club. Unfortunately, Pitch was already gone, dissipated back into his shadows like the coward he was. And all around Frost, the darkness was morphing into solid shapes, with sandy black manes and glowing yellow eyes.

“I would ask you to take a message back to the Queen for me,” Pitch’s voice said. “But I don’t think you’ll be making it back to Court today. Goodbye, Frost.”

Aster sensed Pitch leave, knew he was gone the same way you could feel an emptiness in the room when someone leaves after a bad argument. All he could do was watch and shout as the Fearlings coalesced and leapt at Frost, in the middle of them all like a sitting duck.

“Frost!” Aster shouted, bringing his boomerang down on the ice encasing his feet. A small chunk came off- not enough. “Frost, melt the ice, you bloody wanker!”

The Fearlings were a writhing mass in the center of the room, and for a moment Aster thought Frost was already gone. Then there was a bright flash of blue light and the Fearlings drew back slightly, leaving just enough room for Frost to roll out and come up into a crouch, already firing more ice at them. His hair was a spot of bright white amidst the rolling darkness, and Aster kept his eyes trained on it as he kept shouting at the spirit and hacking at the ice with the sharp end of his boomerang.

Frost was clearly a skilled fighter, but he was in an enclosed space surrounded by dozens of Fearlings. It was their home turf, and any time he came close to slashing through one with his staff or hitting it with ice, it would disappear off into the shadows and another would take its place. Frost was quick- he ducked and rolled, bobbed and weaved like he was in some strange kind of dance. 

Aster had finally managed to scrape enough of the ice away that he could wiggle his left toes when a shout drew his attention back to the fight. He looked for Frost’s pale figure and spotted him on the ground, back to the dark stone wall. He had his staff half-raised to shield him, but he was clutching his stomach and the Fearlings were stalking towards him slowly, the way they did when they knew their prey was cornered.

“FROST!” Aster shouted, not caring how badly it gave away his position.

Frost looked at him, and even from here Aster could make out the bright blue of his eyes. There was a heavy moment where Aster realized that even now, Frost might not let him out.

Then the ice remaining around Aster’s feet melted into a puddle of cold water and Aster was off, launching into the cavern and throwing his boomerangs. They sliced neatly through the two Fearlings closest to Frost.

Now that he was presenting an obstacle to the goal Pitch had left them with, the Fearlings turned, rounding on Aster. He dodged them with ease, falling back on muscle memory to lead him through the fight. It had been decades since he had last had cause to fight, and Aster could feel that he had slipped a bit. A Fearling’s hoof strayed a bit too close to Aster’s head and he cursed as he ducked away, vowing to start training again from here on out. 

Frost was still fighting from the floor, firing ice at the Fearlings trying to get at him. Aster sprang forward, landing in front of him and pulling a color bomb out of his bandolier. He threw it, and was distantly pleased when it hit its target and exploded, spraying all of the Fearlings with a riot of pastels.

“Come on,” he said over the sounds of the Fearlings whinnying. He reached down and grabbed Frost, lifting him easily because apparently the bloke weighed nothing at all.   
Frost clung to his staff as Aster turned and ran, bounding back through the cavern with Frost in his arms. The Fearlings were distracted enough that they didn’t give an aggressive chase, and Aster shot off down the tunnel back in the direction they had come, hoping ardently that Pitch’s tunnels wouldn’t twist or play tricks on them. 

Thankfully, his hopes were answered. He cleared the distance back up through the tunnel’s entrance in one jump, crashing through the rusty bed shoulder-first (and ouch, yeah, that one was gonna hurt later). He bounded several feet away and then turned, glancing back towards the tunnel. No Fearlings had followed them, and Aster wasn’t surprised; Pitch had ordered them to stay and kill Frost, not follow if he fled. No doubt Pitch hadn’t expected Frost would be  _ able  _ to flee. 

Aster looked down at Frost in his arms. The winter sprite was curled inward, both hands pressed to his abdomen, staff nestled awkwardly in the dip of his elbow. Aster could see bright red peeking through his fingers. He glanced at Frost’s uncovered face again and couldn’t process much more other than  _ holy shit he’s just a kid _ .

“Y’alright, Frost?” he asked.

“Fine.” Frost wasn’t looking at him, his gaze instead fixed on the entrance to Pitch’s lair in the grass. “Put me down.”

For some reason, that made Aster’s arms tighten. “Did a Fearling do that?” he asked, nodding towards his injury.

Frost glared up at him, but it was too pale and pinched to insult Aster any. 

“Because if it did, you need to let me help you clean it out. If any sand got into it, you could become corrupted.” 

Frost still wasn’t looking at Aster; if anything, he seemed more determined to act as though Aster didn’t exist at all, and he was merely  _ floating  _ in mid-air instead of being held by the other spirit.

“I have supplies for this in my Warren,” Aster said, because Frost had helped save that kid and he could see the blood staining his dark undershirt and he just looked so damn young now that Aster could properly see him. Maybe Aster had gone a bit soft over the years, but if there was a chance the kid could become corrupted by nightmare sand… well, he didn’t particularly fancy the idea of trying to reckon with a corrupted Frost on Pitch’s side. Call it selfish of him. “We’ll pop in, I’ll make sure you get that properly cleaned, and you can be on your merry way in half an hour.” 

There was very little expression to Frost’s face. He was surprisingly beautiful, Aster had to admit to himself now that he had a proper look at him, but it was a cold, still kind of beauty that made goosebumps spring up under Aster’s fur. Nothing he’d want to get too close to in regular circumstances. 

Still, he watched as Frost nodded, very slowly and deliberately as though he didn’t have another choice. Aster wasn’t too upset by that. Frost could leave as soon as Aster was sure the bloke wasn’t about to turn Pitch-crazy on them all. 

“Alright,” Aster said. He lifted his foot and thumped it twice against the earth. “Hold tight, then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and the feedback so far! Let me know what you think below :) Have a lovely day/night!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: physical abuse

If Jack had been conflicted about the Easter Bunny before, he had now resolutely decided that he did not like him.

The blur of events of the last hour had set Jack’s head spinning in a way it hadn’t in centuries. First- okay, the confrontation with Pitch hadn’t gone as well as he had expected it to. He had known that Pitch was a strong spirit, but from what he had gathered at Court, he had reached the height of his power in the Dark Ages and had been steadily declining in strength since. The Snow Queen had told him of his shadow play, had mentioned the way his words could twist and squirm their way into your head, but Jack had assumed he’d be immune to that. There wasn’t much for Pitch to squirm his way  _ into  _ when it came to him, after all. 

He hadn’t known about Pitch’s power to sense fears. Jack had felt his presence, in the gaping cold of his chest, worming in deep to try and figure out what Jack was afraid of. There weren’t very many, but the few fears he did have were… unpleasant.

It had been enough to render him unsteady, and when one of the Fearlings had struck him with a sharp hoof, Jack had easily resigned himself to going down in that dark cavern.

He wasn’t sure why he’d unfrozen the rabbit. Jack had fully expected him to take off and leave Jack to his demise in Pitch’s lair. If he’d kept the rabbit frozen in the block of ice, no doubt the Fearlings would have turned on him as soon as they had finished with Jack. The Snow Queen would have been pleased about that, surely, but- well. The Easter Bunny hadn’t gotten in Jack’s way, so he wasn’t disobeying any orders by freeing him and allowing him to flee. Jack hadn’t really thought too hard about melting the ice, too focused on the encroaching Fearlings to care very much.

And then- boomerangs had flown, and Jack had thought they were aimed at him until they sliced through the Fearlings closest to him. The rabbit had entered the fray, moving with a quickness that had surprised Jack. He had thrown- something- that filled the dark space with color, and then Jack was being lifted. His injury hurt so badly and he was so disoriented that all he could do was cling to his staff as they shot out of the cavern, back down the damp tunnels and out into the sunlight.

The rabbit wanted to take him somewhere to clean his wounds. Jack had half a mind to encase  _ all  _ of him in a block of ice and make his escape, but the rabbit had said something about corruption. Jack had heard that before, at the court, whispers of Pitch’s power to infect people, sway them over to his side. Jack wasn’t overly bothered about that, but he had already been numbed by the Snow Queen, and there was a tiny part of him that dreaded the idea of losing even more of himself to that darkness. Lying in the rabbit’s furry, surprisingly muscled arms- and wasn’t  _ that  _ insane of the rabbit, to put himself into as vulnerable a position as that, all Jack had to do was jab his staff up and break his windpipe and he’d be down, and Jack was very close to doing just that- Jack drew back the hand he had pressed against his injury and saw that his blood was tinged with black.

Well. With the rabbit he went, then. No doubt this was some kind of trap, but if Jack could get in long enough to at least take the medical supplies, he was willing to risk it rather than have any ties to Pitch. 

The rabbit refused to put Jack down even as he opened some kind of hole in the ground and jumped down. Jack was annoyed, but he admitted privately to himself that he probably wouldn’t be able to walk very well at this point, let alone move as fast as the rabbit was going. The gash in his abdomen was aching and still oozing that strange red-black blood. He was sore all over from the fight, and whenever the rabbit accidentally jostled him, stars burst across Jack’s vision. He felt nauseous enough to throw up by the time the rabbit slowed down.

The rabbit said something, but Jack’s ears were ringing now. He shut his eyes and tried to keep ahold of his thoughts as his head swam. He felt himself being put down, and he turned onto his side to curl around his staff, pressing his forehead against the cold wood. He felt strangely hot all over. The wound in his gut was throbbing now, sharp shocks of pain that were spreading up into his chest, down into his hips. 

“Frost?” Something patted Jack’s cheek roughly. He frowned. “Frost, can you look at me for a mo’?” 

Jack didn’t want to, but he knew how to follow an order when he heard it. He cracked his eyes open and was struck when all he saw was bright green hovering over him. The Court was never any color other than white or pale shades of grey. Jack hadn’t even  _ seen  _ the color green for those first few decades. Why was there green here now? 

Dimly, he felt his undershirt being peeled away. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth and didn’t move, because he had long since learned he only made it worse when he struggled. All he got for  _ that  _ was another gentle slap to his face.

“Eyes open, Frost,” grunted that same voice from before. “You can pass out  _ after  _ I get all this bloody sand out of you.”

Sand? Jack kept his eyes open, just barely, and stared up at the ceiling overhead. It was brown, not the flat icy white of the Snow Queen’s private quarters, and wasn’t that new, too? 

His stomach still hurt, but it had settled into a numb, dull kind of pain that Jack could ignore. He kept staring at the ceiling, feeling himself drifting even as he kept his eyes open the best he could. He could still hear a voice talking, murmuring slow and deep, but he couldn’t make out individual words anymore. 

Finally, the pain in Jack’s abdomen receded. The voice went quiet, and Jack couldn’t hear anything other than the faint sounds of something moving around. He let his eyes slip shut, and was relieved when no one told him to open them back up again.

X X X X X

When Jack woke up, he laid very still.

He was on a couch, in a small room that he didn’t recognize. He hadn’t shifted enough to get a good look at anything, but he was somewhere foreign, and that in itself was incredibly unsettling.

Several silent minutes passed before he realized that he was the only one in the room. He sat up slowly, wincing when his abdomen gave a subdued throb. He was still wearing his own shirt- thank goodness for small miracles- which he lifted to peer at the white bandages wrapped around his stomach. He gave them an experimental poke, and then dropped his shirt back down to look around the room.

It was a sitting room of some kind, dome-shaped, with walls made of dark, packed earth. He was sitting on the only sofa in the room, which in turn was surrounded by several mismatched armchairs. There were shelves built into the walls, all laden with books and trinkets that Jack had to repress curiosity about. 

He picked up his dark cloak, which had been folded and placed on the couch by his feet. He stood, stretching carefully, and looked- there, leaning against the wall nearest him, was his staff. He reached it in seconds, and felt a small bit of comfort when frost curled around the wood at his touch. 

Jack pulled the cloak on, and after a moment’s hesitation, drew up the hood. The Queen had always required he wear it when she took him out in public. For his own protection, she had told him. He doubted it would do anything to protect him now, but he felt a little bit better once he had it pulled low to shield his eyes. 

There weren’t any doors to the room, just open archways leading into other dome-shaped rooms. Jack crept towards the nearest one, his bare feet silent on the floor. When he peeked in, it seemed to be a kitchen, with a small wooden table and large windows that let in a generous amount of light. Jack glanced out the window, but couldn’t see much other than sunlight and greenery.

There was a door to this room, a smooth wooden one. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, so Jack approached it. He readjusted his grip on his staff, crouched down in anticipation of having to defend himself, and reached for the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open. 

He had to squint against the sunlight. The door opened to the outside, some kind of meadow if all the grass was anything to go by. Jack moved closer, inch by inch, until he was able to stick his head out and look.

He bit his tongue to keep from gasping out loud.

Jack had been outside of the Queen’s Court, of course. He wasn’t kept  _ prisoner _ . Still, he hadn’t been given cause to leave more than a handful of times in the three centuries he had been in service to the Queen. She had been giving him leeway recently in his searches for Pitch, leeway that he had relished in, might have indulged in a little too heavily if his current predicament was anything to go by.

Still, he had never seen a place as…  _ alive  _ as this. 

There was grass, everywhere, green and lush. The terrain rose and fell in smooth hills, dotted generously with different kinds of trees that Jack had never seen before. In the distance he could see a small waterfall pouring into a river, which wove through the scene like a pastel ribbon, because the water was  _ colored _ , multi-colored in every shade in a way that should have looked tacky but instead was beautiful.

Jack didn’t know how long he stayed crouched in the doorway, just staring at it all. He didn’t move until a voice beside him said, “You’re up, then.”

Jack turned, staff already pointed at the source of the voice. The Easter Bunny was standing a few feet away. He must have come around from the side of the house. He was carrying a wicker basket full of vegetables, and his expression was thoroughly unimpressed.

“Not a fair way to treat someone who saved your life, but alright, then,” the rabbit said. 

Slowly, Jack lowered his staff, peering at the other spirit the best he could under his hood. “What?”

The rabbit sighed. One of his ears twitched. “Budge up, will ya? You’re blocking the kitchen.”

Jack stared at him for another long moment. Then he edged backwards, back into the small dwelling, and allowed the rabbit into the space.

Jack should have bolted out the front door now that the way was clear. Instead, he stood and watched as the rabbit set the basket down on a wooden counter and turned on the faucet in the sink. 

“Glad to see you awake,” the Easter Bunny said. He pulled a carrot out of the basket and ran it under the running water, cleaning the dirt off of it. “I was beginning to think you were one of those hibernating types.” 

Jack shifted his weight to his other foot, thoroughly confused by what was happening. He could remember fighting Pitch, and losing, and the rabbit carrying him off to clean his wounds, but- “What?”

The rabbit set the cleaned carrot aside and picked up what looked like a turnip. “You’ve been asleep just about two days, mate.” 

Jack felt himself go cold. He braced his staff against the floor so he could lean against it, staring blankly at the rabbit’s broad back. “Two days?” 

“Seemed like you needed it.” 

Two days. That- this was bad. The Snow Queen only allowed him to leave for a few hours before he had to return to her side. He had never been apart from her for longer than half a day at a time, let alone  _ two _ . Jack wondered why he hadn’t felt her summons yet. 

“Why are you keeping me here?” He kept his words as flat as possible, trying not to let any emotion bleed through. It wouldn’t do to let the rabbit see he was upset. He hadn’t done anything to try and harm Jack yet, but Jack had no doubts that it would be coming. Why else would the rabbit have allowed him into what was clearly his private sanctuary?

The rabbit threw a frown over his shoulder at Jack. “Who said anything about keepin’ you here, Frost?” he asked. He set the turnip down beside the cleaned carrot and turned, crossing his arms. “You’re free to go whenever. You conked out after I cleaned you up- you’re  _ welcome  _ for that, by the way, you got a fair bit of nightmare sand in you and it was a pain tryin’ to get it out- but now that you’re up you’re welcome to leave whenever you want.” The rabbit waved at the open door. “Head out to the left and you’ll find a tunnel. Follow it all the way to the end and it will put you out somewhere in Pennsylvania. Just don’t frost over any of my plants on the way out.” The rabbit turned back to the sink, picking another carrot out of his basket. “‘Course, you’re welcome to stay for lunch if you want to. I need to get these simmering to make soup for dinner, and then I was going to make a few sandwiches.”

Jack stared at him. Then he turned to look out the door, at the grass beyond it. If the rabbit was telling the truth, he could leave now. Pennsylvania- it would take several hours to get back to the Snow Queen’s palace.

“She’ll be angry,” Jack said without thinking. He didn’t have much cause to talk anymore, but apparently when he did, he didn’t have a  _ filter _ . 

The faucet stopped. “The Queen?” Jack didn’t respond. The rabbit picked up a dish towel that had been lying on the counter and wiped his paws. “Haven’t met the lady myself,” he continued. It sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. “But I might have to agree with you on that one, mate.” 

Jack should have been upset at the rabbit for speaking about the Queen like that. Once, a barbegazi had made an inappropriate comment about her skirt, and the Queen had forced Jack to freeze him from the inside out. He had watched the spirit throughout the whole process, watched him choke for air as Jack had slowly frozen his lungs solid. 

Now, though, all he could think about was how very likely it was the same thing would happen to him if he returned. The Queen had always told him he was her most valuable possession, but her temper was… short. 

“Frost,” the rabbit said, and Jack returned his gaze to him, peering at him from under his hood. He couldn’t read the rabbit’s expression very well, except for his clear discomfort, as though whatever he was about to say would be very difficult. “Listen, you… I know you don’t know me well, but you got a right nasty injury from those Fearlings. If you need a place to lay low for awhile- you’re more than welcome to stay here in the Warren.”

The Warren- that must be what this place was called, then. That was the only thing Jack really got from the rabbit’s statement, because the rest of it was just too confusing to try and parse through. Jack was up and walking, wasn’t he? He didn’t need a place to recover.

“I need to return to Court,” Jack said instead. He drew himself up, ignoring the twinge in his abdomen. “The tunnel is to the left?”

If the rabbit was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “Just past the jojoba trees.”

Jack nodded, and started towards the front door. He stopped halfway out, hesitating. No one in Court had ever been big on manners, except towards the Queen, but there was  _ something  _ in Jack that told him it was rude to just leave.

“Thank you,” he said, so quietly he was half-certain the other spirit didn’t hear him. 

Then he left, keeping his head down so as not to take in any more of the scenery as he went.

X X X X X

The Snow Queen was… upset.

Jack had had enough foresight to stop a fair distance from the palace and carefully unwrap the bandages the rabbit had put on him. He had dug a small hole in the snow and dropped them in, and then cleaned off whatever goo the rabbit had dressed his wound with. Thankfully, he was a fast healer, so the injury was nothing more than a shallow gash on his abdomen now, already bruising at the edges.

Once Jack had covered up the evidence that he had been treated by someone, he took a deep breath, drawing himself into the snow around him like he had been taught long ago.

It was nearing evening by the time he reached the palace, and most of the spirits had retired for the night. Of course, because Jack had impeccable luck, the first person to find him had been General Winter. The glint of his smirk would follow Jack into his sleep tonight.

In her private chambers, the Snow Queen had listened, tight-lipped and still as a statue, as Jack explained what had happened. He did omit the Easter Bunny, however; he felt guilty for lying to his Queen, but the temperature in the room was already dropping so low even  _ he  _ was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and he didn’t think she would appreciate the time he had spent in the company of a Guardian.

He told her about finding Pitch, about facing him down. How he hadn’t anticipated Pitch’s methods of attack, how he had barely managed to get out of his lair, how he had succumbed to his injuries and fallen unconscious for several days, returning  _ immediately  _ once he had woken to discover what had happened.

The Queen ordered him to raise his shirt, to show her the wound, and examined it with a kind of intensity that made Jack’s spine start to ache.

“It seems to be healing nicely, considering the blow was delivered by a Fearling,” she said, her voice quiet and hard. 

Jack dropped his shirt. “I was lucky.”

“Quite,” the Snow Queen said.

She stood, the ruffles of her dress splayed about her like a bed of snow. Jack bowed his head as she approached, appropriately reverent despite the fear clawing at his throat.

She grabbed his jaw, sharp nails digging into his skin as she raised his head and forced him to meet her eyes. They were as flat and white as ever, but everything about her expression had a whisper of anger running through it.

“You disappear for two days,” she said. “My summons cannot reach you for some reason. I am left with no other choice than to assume that you have done something utterly foolish to get yourself killed.” She tilted her head to one side, crown balanced perfectly atop it. “And after all that, you don’t even bring me Pitch Black, as I ordered you to.”

Jack could feel his heart in his chest, pounding. He was waiting for the moment the Queen’s anger would bubble over, and she would freeze him from the inside out, or worse. “I’m sorry, my lady.” 

When the Queen slapped him, all Jack could do was stand there and stare across the room, disoriented. His cheek stung painfully. She wore several rings, and he could feel where each of them had made contact with his skin, had probably split it and drawn blood.

“You failed me, Jack.” Her fingers were back on his chin, yanking his head back harshly so he had to face her. Her hand dropped to his neck, curling around it and  _ squeezing  _ so that his breath caught in his throat. “Give me one good reason,” she said, drawing so close that her lips hovered centimeters from his. He could feel her breath, freezing cold even to him, mingling with his own. “Not to kill you.”

She was squeezing harder, her grip so tight Jack could no longer draw breath. He kept his hands at his sides, not fighting it even as spots swam across his vision, as her lips inched nearer to his.

He stared at her, and hoped dully that she would just  _ do it _ .

Just when he felt himself slipping off, her grip eased. He drew in a long breath, thin and raspy. She tilted his head to press a firm, cold kiss to the corner of his lips, not close enough, but  _ so close _ . 

She pushed him away and he fell, tripping over his own feet and landing on all fours. “Get out of my sight,” she said as he continued to suck in breath, trying to recover. 

Jack left. He scrambled out of her chambers, hardly noticing when the heavy ice doors slammed shut behind him. He stood in the dark hallway outside, staring at the wall with wide eyes.

She hadn’t killed him. She had been so close,  _ he  _ had been so close, but she hadn’t killed him, and he was alive and tonight or tomorrow he would be expected to serve the Queen again, in Court, in bed. She wouldn’t send him back out to look for Pitch Black. She never gave second chances. He wouldn’t be allowed out of the palace for another century or two, if he was ever let out again.

She would never let him out.

Jack’s feet began moving of their own accord. He went back to his chambers, the tiny room he used on those rare occasions when the Queen had no use of him. He picked up his staff, which he had dropped off before going to the Queen. The wood felt heavy in his hand.

He had no other personal items to grab. His room was small and bare except for the bed shoved into the corner. When he left, he shut the door behind him. 

It was the middle of the night now, and the palace was quiet. Dead. Jack crept carefully through the cold hallways, clinging to the shadows even as his skin crawled with the memories of Fearlings appearing from them. 

He wove his way through the maze of corridors, up to the main floor. Just as he was passing the throne room, he heard footsteps, heavy and methodical, behind him. He ducked into a decorative crevice just in time, pressing himself against the cold ice and holding his breath as the figure passed him.

It was the General. He was bundled up in his full uniform, and seemed annoyed about something, if his scowl was anything to go by. He muttered to himself in Russia as he stomped past Jack, marching off in the direction of the guest wing.

Jack waited several minutes after his footsteps had disappeared to slip out of his hiding space. Then he turned and ran, bare feet slapping against the icy floor and dark cloak flying behind him as he sprinted. 

He didn’t bother with the heavy front doors- much too loud- and instead jumped up to wriggle through a tiny open window. He dropped into the snow on the other side, stumbling. The pain in his abdomen had flared back up again, and his throat and cheek were both throbbing painfully in the subzero temperature.

The wind rushed around him, harsh and full of cutting ice. He squinted and pushed forward into the night, shoving his way through the deep snow. Just a bit farther, and then- he felt it the second he was away from the Queen’s protective wards, the ease of pressure in his stomach, and he closed his eyes and thought about where he wanted to go and he disappeared.

The forests of Pennsylvania were quiet at night. In the time since Jack had been there last, it had started raining. He wrapped his cloak tightly about himself to ward off a chill that wasn’t there and dragged himself forward, staff clutched tightly in his hands. He wandered in the darkness, weaving through trees and bushes, bare feet sinking and slipping in the mud. 

Jack was fairly sure that he had the right spot, but there was no sign of the tunnel he had come through earlier. He felt his heart rate picking back up again. The Queen’s summons hadn’t reached him when he had been underground, but surely she would be able to get to him now, where he was standing like a waiting target in the middle of the forest. She would either summon him or look for him in her mirror; either way, he only had a little bit of time before someone reported him missing and the Queen dragged him back to Court. The next time he appeared before her, he doubted she would hold back. 

Jack’s foot slipped and he fell onto one knee. Wet mud squished between his fingers, and the rain dripping from overhead was coming down harder now. It was blurring his vision, and he tried to blink the water away, staring hard at the ground around him. It had to be here somewhere, he had said- he had said that Jack could-

He dropped his staff and started clawing at the mud, hoping desperately that something would give and a tunnel would open,  _ hoping  _ so hard he felt it aching in his chest. He scraped at the wet earth, his breaths coming out shaky and rough, because it wasn’t here and she would come find him and he would be lucky if she gave him a quick death, more likely she would devise some kind of special torture for him, maybe get the General or some of the other spirits in on it, they needed amusement, after all-

Something touched Jack’s shoulder and he gasped, scrambling back and away from what was surely a spirit come to bring him back to the Queen.

Instead, he saw bright green eyes looming over him, and could have sobbed in relief.

Jack opened his mouth, ignoring the bitter taste of the rain. “Please,” he said. 

The rabbit stared at him a moment longer, and for one terrifying minute Jack thought he was just going to leave him there. Then he bent down and picked Jack’s staff out of the mud. When he stood, he extended his arm towards Jack.

Jack hesitated for only a moment before reaching up and gripping the paw. The rabbit’s fur was wet, but Jack ignored that and let the other spirit pull him to his feet. 

Jack was soaked through and covered in mud and somehow cold underneath it all, but when the rabbit thumped his foot twice against the ground and a tunnel appeared, he followed him down without a second thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope your day is going well! Let me know any thoughts you have below :)


	7. Chapter 7

Jack Frost looked like a drowned kitten. 

He followed Aster at a distance back through the tunnel. Aster had handed his staff back to him, and he was now clutching it close to his chest like it was a lifeline.

Aster led him through the Warren, which was dark to reflect the time on the surface. His shed, a tiny structure he had made mostly to house the entrance to his den, glowed like a beacon in the dark landscape, yellow light pouring from the windows. Aster walked slowly, in respect to his companion, and when he reached the door he held it open for Frost to pass through.

Frost entered the dwelling and then stopped, standing and staring at nothing. He was dripping and covered in mud up to his elbow (what had he been doing, digging like that?). He was wearing that black cloak of his, but the hood had long since fallen back. His white hair was wet and tangled, plastered to the back of his neck. 

“Looks like you could use a wash,” Aster said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. 

Frost looked at him. His blue eyes were wide and still semi-panicked, the way they’d been when Aster had found him, curled on the ground in the rain. There were marks on his cheek, faint bruising and small, fresh-looking cuts. There were bruises on his neck, too, and Aster had to swallow back a surge of anger because those _sure looked like fingerprints_. 

He didn’t think Frost would take well to his temper right now, though. Instead, he went to his cupboard and pulled out a large bowl.

He didn’t get hot water at his sink- he had set the plumbing up himself, and he hadn’t figured out how to make that work just yet- but Frost was a winter spirit, so hopefully it wouldn’t matter very much. He brought the full bowl of water over to the table with a dish rag, and set both of them down.

Frost just stood there, watching him. He was making a puddle on the floor.

Aster gestured towards the bowl. “You can take a dip in the springs tomorrow, if you want,” he said. “This’ll help you get the mud off for now.”

Frost blinked like he was coming out of a trance. He looked down at his hands, wrapped in a vicelike grip around his staff and coated in slowly drying mud. After another second he moved, walking over to the table and sitting in the chair Aster had pulled back for him.

Aster didn’t watch as he cleaned himself off. He walked over to the hearth, where a fire was still burning low and almost extinguished, and prodded it back to life. He grabbed the empty kettle and went to the sink to fill it, and then hung it on the spit over the flames to warm it.

His mother had always made tea when she hadn’t been sure what else to do. Aster was happy to borrow that idea from her now.

By the time he had the leaves brewing, Frost was sitting motionless at the table again. The bowl of water was brown with mud, and he had carefully wrung out and folded the dish towel, setting it aside. Aster approached to grab both of them, ignoring the way Frost stiffened when he got near, and took them back over to the sink. 

“Hope you like darjeeling,” Aster said, taking out two clay mugs and grabbing the kettle with a rag to protect himself from the heat. He poured a generous serving into each cup, and then carried them both over to the table. “Do you take milk and sugar?”

Frost didn’t respond, but Aster felt too twitchy to sit down yet. He went to the ice box and pulled out a bottle of milk and then scooped up the jar of sugar and two spoons on his way back. He set all of it down on the table, pulled his mug closer, and was halfway through fixing his drink before he realized that Frost was just sitting there staring at his own.

“I’m sorry,” Aster said with a jolt. “Is it- is it too hot for you? I’ve got a few ice cubes if that’ll help.” 

Frost started when Aster spoke, like he’d forgotten he was there. He shook his head, and then reached out to grab the handle of his mug. 

Aster finished stirring his. He tapped his spoon against the lip of his mug, and then took it up in both paws, soaking in the heat through his fur. “So who did that to you?” he asked quietly.

Frost was staring at his dark tea. He darted a look up at Aster, quick, and then looked back to his drink without answering.

Aster tried very hard not to sigh. He took a long, slow sip of his tea. “You can kip on the couch again,” he said. “‘Fraid I don’t have much in the way of guest rooms, but I can set you up with some pillows and blankets.” 

Frost still didn’t respond. Aster was beginning to think the other spirit had shut down for the night, if his blank stare was anything to go by.

Aster sipped his tea slowly, listening to the crackle of the fire in the silence. When he was halfway finished and Frost hadn’t made a move to even lift his own mug, he set his drink aside and stood up. 

“C’mon,” he said. “You look right exhausted.”

He walked into the adjoining sitting room. He had a couple of wool blankets strewn about the room, which he gathered up and laid out neatly on the couch. He managed to dig up a few pillows as well, which he set down near the head of the sofa. 

“There you go,” he said. Frost was hanging back by the doorway, looking so desperately uncertain it was almost painful for Aster to look at him properly. “I need to go clean the kitchen up, and then I’m off to bed. If you need anything, just… just holler, yeah?” 

Frost didn’t respond, but he finally walked into the room to approach the couch. Aster headed back towards the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to look back and check that Frost had made it to the couch. Then he waved his hand, and the witch lights set into the wall extinguished themselves so the room was dark except for the warm light pouring in from the kitchen.

Aster felt as though he was on autopilot. He went back into the kitchen and cleaned up, dumping out the bowl of brown water and washing off the towel to hang it up to dry. He poured out Frost’s full mug of tea. Then he went and picked up his own, hesitating at the fire. After a moment’s deliberation he decided to leave it burning. If Frost needed some source of light tonight, it would do in a pinch.

He turned off the lights in the kitchen and walked down the short hallway leading deeper into the Burrow. Without thinking his feet brought him to his library, where he normally went to think. It was a relatively large room stuffed floor to ceiling with books he had collected over the years, complete with a handwoven rug and a couple armchairs and end tables to make the place homier. 

Aster sat down heavily in his favorite chair. He brought his mug up to his lips but didn’t drink it yet. The last half hour felt simultaneously as though it had lasted several days and the blink of an eye.

When Frost had left earlier that day, he had expected to never see the spirit again. He still wasn’t sure what had possessed him to offer up the Warren to the bloke. Aster hadn’t had visitors to his home in decades; he couldn’t even remember the last time any Guardians had come to visit him. He had taken a big enough risk bringing Frost back to treat his wound, considering who he had sworn his loyalty to. He shouldn’t have attempted to extend his stay.

Except Frost had looked so small curled up on Aster’s couch, and so disoriented when he had woken up, and the way he jumped every time Aster made a sudden movement sat heavy in Aster’s stomach. So, he had offered, and Frost had turned it down, and that was the end of it. Aster was almost relieved to wash his hands of the matter.

Then, just when Aster had been preparing to go to bed, he had felt it- a tug of hope, so strong and desperate it had nearly knocked him off his feet. And it was directed right at _him._

Frost had been easy to find, up in Pennsylvania near where the tunnel would have let him out earlier. He had made quite the scene, on his knees in the mud and the rain, but Aster had taken one look at his frantic expression and made up his mind on the spot that he’d help him.

_Please_. That one word had contained more emotion in it than Aster had thought Frost capable of. It had been enough to make his fur stand on end.

Aster sighed heavily, and took a sip of his lukewarm tea. Alright, Frost was back, and injured, and possibly experiencing some type of shock that had rendered him mute.

Clearly, something had gone wrong when he’d returned to the Winter Court. Aster had half a clue as to what, considering the kid’s injuries, but that didn’t add up. The Snow Queen was violent, yes, but Frost had been her loyal subject for… was it four centuries now? Three? As long as Aster could remember hearing about the spirit, certainly- he had experienced a considerable boost to notoriety after shacking up at the Court. 

Why would the Snow Queen attack someone that had willingly sided with her? From what Aster had gathered, she’d historically had to _coerce_ people into joining, and those arrangements always ended poorly. 

Aster sighed again. He finished off his tea and then set the empty mug down on a side table. He’d clean it up in the morning. He’d send for North in the morning, as well, to get his advice on the matter. 

He’d also try and get Frost to eat something tomorrow. He hadn’t forgotten how bloody light the kid was.

X X X X X

Frost wasn’t on the couch when Aster woke up, nor was he in the kitchen. The blankets Aster had left for him had been neatly folded- or, rather, it looked as though they hadn’t been used at all, which made him frown. 

Alright, Aster thought irritably to himself as he marched into the kitchen. He had offered the bloke a place to stay, and he had left in the middle of the night without so much as a thank you. 

Except, that didn’t quite fit, did it? 

Aster poured himself a glass of water, drank it, and then set off out the front door to follow his hunch outside.

He found Frost by the river, a fair way off from the Burrow. He was sitting on the shore, crouched over with his knees pulled to his chest. He was wearing that black cloak again, with the hood pulled low over his head.

Aster approached him carefully. He knew how easily the lad got spooked. 

“Sleep alright?” he asked, sitting down a few feet from Frost. 

Frost didn’t react, but he did tense his shoulders as though he had expected Aster to join him. Aster watched him curl inwards and settled in to wait until he spoke.

It took several minutes. Aster watched the soft waves in the river, watched the blues and pinks and greens roll together into one beautiful shade. It was quiet except for the sound of the water running gently across the rocks. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Not an answer to my question,” Aster said, watching the river. 

“I shouldn’t have come.” 

The simulated sun overhead was warm, and Aster tipped his head back, letting it touch the fur on his face. “I invited you.” 

Frost didn’t answer. Aster bit his tongue and tried very hard to stem his annoyance. It was a bit hard trying to get any sort of information out of the lad when he refused to speak more than three or four words at a time. 

Still, Aster was nothing if not patient. He normally didn’t even have any company in the Warren. He could handle a quiet guest. 

“I’m going to go make us a spot of brekkie,” he said. He rose back to his feet, huffing when his body protested the movement. Weren’t his joints supposed to be as immortal as the rest of him? “Come join me when you feel like it. I’ve got a few questions for you.” 

He didn’t wait for Frost to follow him. Aster walked back to the Burrow at a leisurely pace, enjoying the warm sunlight. Perhaps he’d get out and do a bit of weeding today.

Frost joined him when he was nearly done preparing breakfast. Aster kept his back turned to him to allow him to slink inside and sit at the table quietly without feeling watched.

“Hope you like eggs,” he said when Frost had settled himself. He dished out the breakfast he had thrown together, the quickest meal he could think to make- eggs, potatoes, and generous cuts of brown bread slathered with butter and jam- and dropped the two plates on the table. He went to grab a jug of apple juice from the ice box and returned to the table with empty glasses. 

Frost was staring down at his plate. Aster could see bits and pieces of his face, a pointy, pale chin, a few strands of white hair peeping out. 

“I don’t eat much meat, so sorry if that’s more your taste,” Aster said, picking up his fork. “I’ll take a good fish if I can get it, but where I grew up we mostly ate fruits and veggies.” Aster speared a fried potato on his fork and then paused. “You do eat, right?”

He knew that there were some spirits who chose not to eat at all. The Wandjina, as far as he was aware, got their energy entirely from rain clouds. Still, even though spirits didn’t technically have to eat and could go long periods between meals, it did the body good to have food on the regular. 

“I can.” Frost’s response was so quiet Aster had to strain his ears to hear. He watched as the boy slowly picked up his slice of bread and ducked his head low to take a small bite.

Pleased, Aster poured a helping of juice into each glass. “Not that you’re not welcome here,” he said, setting the jug back down. “But I would appreciate a bit of an explanation as to what happened last night.” 

Frost raised his head just enough that Aster could see his eyes. His expression was carefully blank as he set his bread back down. “I had a disagreement with the Snow Queen,” he said. “You offered a place to stay. I came to stay until I decide to return.”

“Return, huh?” Aster asked, eyeing the bruising he could see in the shadows. 

“I’ve pledged myself to the Snow Queen’s service. I intend to return to it.”

Aster raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment on that.

They ate in silence. Aster cleared his plate, while Frost just kept picking at his own food. By the time Aster rose to clear the table, he wasn’t sure that Frost had eaten more than a few bites.

Well, that explained the boy’s weight. 

“You’re welcome to stay here until you return to Court,” Aster said. He disposed of Frost’s leftovers and then left the plates in the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. He could clean up later. “Couple’a ground rules, though. I’ve got a lot of fragile plants down here, so take care to keep your ice away from them, yeah? That goes for the googies, too- the eggs. Easter’s over, so there aren’t a lot of them still kickin’, but I keep a couple around to practice my painting. You’re welcome to keep sleepin’ on the couch, and you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Don’t go any deeper into the Burrow, though.”

Weird enough that he was opening this much of his home to Jack Frost of all people. He didn’t need the kid poking around in his personal things. 

Content with his list, Aster turned back around to grab a rag to clean himself up with. He nearly jumped when Frost spoke, louder than usual.

“That’s it?”

Aster frowned and turned back around. Frost was looking at him with wide eyes, as though he had startled himself with his own words. The bruising on his cheek was a sickly purple color today. 

“Yeah?” It came out a question. “I mean, I don’t think you’ll be purposefully mucking around with my things, right?”

“No,” Frost said. “I just-” He paused, then ducked his head back down. “Sorry.”

Aster’s frown deepened. He wiped his hands off on the rag and tossed it back on the counter. “I need to step out for a little. Won’t take more than a few hours.” _If_ he could keep North’s chatting to a minimum, that was. “Feel free to look around outside. If you need anything, ask the egg sentinels, they’ll be able to point you in the right direction.”

And they’d keep an eye on Frost, and alert Aster to anything suspicious. Just because Aster had felt bad enough for the lad to offer him a place to stay, didn’t mean he trusted him any further than he could throw him.

Frost was still hanging about the sitting room when Aster left. He didn’t respond when Aster told him he was leaving.

Oh, well. North would talk so much he would have Aster missing Frost’s silence in no time. 

X X X X X

When Aster returned to the Warren it was later in the evening than he had hoped for. His talk with North had lasted much longer than he had anticipated. Apparently, letting Jack Frost into the Warren, let alone letting him _sleep_ in the Warren, raised a lot of questions in his old friend.

Ah, well. Let him be as suspicious as he wanted to be. _He_ hadn’t seen the look on Frost’s face last night. Aster could handle looking a little bit off his rocker if it helped to ease his conscience. 

Still, North had raised a few concerning points. Apparently Russia had been rocked by an out-of-season snowstorm that day that had seemed to culminate overnight. Most of it had died down by late afternoon, but it had been sudden and violent, and Aster had a few suspicions as to what had caused that. If the Snow Queen was going to take out her personal issues on the humans, they’d have to address the matter at some point. 

Also, the search for Pitch was still on. Aster had forgotten in all the chaos of the last few days, but North was receiving new reports of Fearling attacks by the day. Some of them had been in the daytime, too, which meant Pitch was getting bolder. Aster had grudgingly agreed to attend a Guardian meeting in a week’s time to discuss their options moving forward. 

Until then, he needed to get something to eat, and _rest_ , because he was right exhausted. Funny how he didn’t even have to do anything strenuous anymore to tire himself out. He took a brief detour to check on his gardens on the way back to the Burrow- drat, he had forgotten to weed them, he’d have to do that first thing in the morning- and then headed for the kitchen, trying to think of something he could scrounge up quick before passing out in his nest.

The witch lights were on in the kitchen. Aster stepped in- and then froze.

It wasn’t that Aster was _messy_ , necessarily, but he had a certain way of organizing things that some might consider a bit _dysfunctional_. He also knew for a fact that he had left a rather formidable stack of dishes in the sink.

They were gone, cleaned and put away out of sight. The rest of the room had been tidied as well. The wooden counters looked fresh, like they had been scrubbed clean, and each surface seemed to shine like it hadn’t in… when was the last time Aster had given his kitchen a good scrubbing? A few decades ago?

Everything in the kitchen was put away, except for a few bowls on the table. Aster moved forward to look at them, and then blinked, long and slow.

A bowl of freshly cut fruit, a jar of honey, and a small bowl of granola. That was… exactly what he had been thinking of making himself. 

Aster smiled, even as he felt his instincts stirring. _Stop that- the lad was only being friendly._

Still, Aster decided to check on him before he ate. He peeked into the sitting room, which was just as tidy as the kitchen was- empty, not that Aster had been surprised. He turned and headed back out the front door, grateful for his eyesight in the dim lighting.

He found Frost curled up on a small cliff overlooking the river. He had his black cloak drawn about him like a blanket, face hidden beneath the folds of his hood. His shoulders rose and fell with peaceful sleep.

Aster watched him for a long moment, then sighed. “Now, what am I going to do with you?” he murmured. 

He went back to the Burrow and fetched a _real_ blanket to drape over Frost. If the bloke was going to insist on sleeping outside, he would at least be comfortable doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback so far <3 I appreciate it!


	8. Chapter 8

The rabbit was… strange. 

After his initial round of questioning, he didn’t try to seek any further information from Jack. In fact, he seemed content enough to let Jack do whatever he wished, as long as Jack obeyed the flimsy rules he had set out.

That wasn’t difficult, because the rabbit had given Jack very few guidelines as to how he should conduct himself in his home. Still, Jack found himself treading incredibly lightly those first few days, sticking almost entirely to the shores of the river within sight of the main dwelling. 

Every time he thought about how he had come to be here, Jack felt guilt clawing at his throat. It had seemed like his only choice at the time, and the rabbit  _ had  _ offered his home to Jack temporarily, but Jack couldn’t begin to imagine how pitiful he had looked showing up on the rabbit’s doorstep like that. In the rain, on his knees like one of those spirit beggars who sometimes came to prostrate themselves before the Snow Queen. What had he been thinking?

So- guilty. He was trying to do little things to help ease that guilt, like cleaning up after the rabbit (who was surprisingly messy) and making simple meals for him when it looked as though he’d forgotten to eat. He always did these chores in secret, and the rabbit hadn’t said anything about them, either positive or negative, so he figured his efforts weren’t unwanted. 

When he wasn’t taking on the monumental task of trying to keep things in the rabbit’s home clean, Jack spent his days exploring the Warren or doing a whole lot of nothing. He didn’t feel bold enough to go any further than the river into the space, but he was able to perch on rocks and watch those weird golem-looking things- egg sentinels, the rabbit had called them- wander around. A few times he had even seen what the rabbit had called ‘googies,’ little eggs with legs that scurried around with different kinds of paint splattered on them.

More often than not, Jack found himself just lying in the grass, feeling the sun warm up his cold body. He couldn’t remember ever being warm before. The first time he had dozed off outside and woke up with prickly feeling in his fingers, he had almost panicked.

The rabbit was also interesting to watch. Jack had to do it carefully, so as not to get caught, and whenever the rabbit retreated into some of the deeper rooms in his home, Jack never dared follow. Still, what hobbies he could watch the rabbit do were fascinating.

He was artistic, apparently. Jack often spied on him painting, on all sorts of mediums- paper, canvases, even the little googies. He was good at it, too, even though Jack wished he could see his work closer. 

As the days passed they fell into a strange kind of dance, circling around each other without much communication. They each found their own areas of the Warren to occupy. When the rabbit cooked meals, he always left a second plate out on the table, and sometimes Jack would scurry in to eat it ( _ food _ , real food, not the frozen stuff the Queen gave him every few decades to keep him upright, and wasn’t that a novelty?). 

Sometimes, Jack would fall asleep in the warm grass and wake up with a blanket draped over him. He would always return that silently to the living room and not look at the rabbit the rest of the day. He wasn’t sure to make of that.

Despite everything, Jack found himself somehow  _ comfortable  _ in this warm, fresh space. He liked feeling the grass and dirt under his toes, he liked the steady walk of the sentinels and the googies scurrying around like mice, he even enjoyed the repetition of doing chores to clean up after the rabbit.

He liked the rabbit, too. Watching him, at least. Jack was trying very hard not to think on that too much.

Still, he was on borrowed time, and he knew it. It was only a matter of time before the rabbit kicked him out and the Snow Queen found him. Jack wasn’t sure what she would do to him once she had him back at the palace. Oh, he could think of any number of punishments she could impose on him, the kindest of them being a quick death, and his imagination kept him up late into the night more often than not. 

Jack was pretty sure that day had come when the rabbit tracked him down one day. Jack was sitting cross-legged in the grass, staff lying on the ground a safe distance from him, watching a few googies run circles around each other when the rabbit approached him.

“Oy, Frost.” Jack looked up at him, stomach sinking. In front of him, the googies ran smack into each other, knocking themselves over onto their backs. “Can we have a quick chat?”

Jack hesitated, then nodded. The rabbit sat down across from him, crouched down on his haunches. He looked pensive about something, and Jack prepared himself for the inevitable  _ you need to leave. _

“You know about the Guardians, yeah?”

Jack blinked. “Yes.”

“Good. Well, we were looking for Pitch- and by we I mean  _ I _ , because the rest are a bunch of lazy larrikins who make everyone else do their work for them,” the rabbit continued, looking so disgruntled Jack had to fight back the smile that threatened to creep across his face. “Anyways, we’re still looking for Pitch. He’s getting bolder in his attacks- scared a group of kids down in Mexico so bad they went to the police.”

Jack curled his fingers into the grass, feeling a flare of  _ something  _ in his chest. He pulled away when the green strands frosted over, and glanced quickly at the rabbit, who didn’t seem to have noticed.

“I’m headed off to the North Pole for a meeting to discuss our next move. I thought- since you were hunting Pitch, too, maybe you’d have something to contribute to the discussion?”

Jack stared at the rabbit flatly. “You want to bring a member of the Winter Court to a  _ Guardian’s _ meeting?”

“I want to bring  _ you  _ to the meeting,” the rabbit said, as if he were correcting anything.

Jack pursed his lips. The googies were still rolling around on their sides, tiny legs kicking futiley in the air. Jack reached out and carefully picked them up, setting them rightside up so they could scurry away. He watched them disappear into the tall grass. 

“Why would I help you?”

The rabbit was quiet for a moment. When Jack finally snuck a glance at him, the spirit was staring at him with those disconcerting green eyes.

“He’s hurting kids, Frost,” he said. “We need all the help we can get.”

There it was again, that tightness in Jack’s chest, just above his ribcage. He cast his gaze to the ground and stared for a long, silent minute. His staff was still lying there, deceptively innocent in the grass. 

“I can’t,” Jack said finally. “If I leave, the Snow Queen will be able to summon me. There’s something about this place that blocks it, but the second I leave…” 

The rabbit’s head tilted, ears twitching. “That’ll be my wards, mate,” he said. “They block any magic from getting in unless I let it through.” 

Well, there was that question answered.

“North has the same wards up at the pole,” the rabbit said. “If she can’t get to you here, she won’t be able to get to you there.” 

Jack frowned doubtfully. The rabbit raised one paw in the air. “I swear on my life,” he said. 

Jack searched his furry face, trying to find some sign of deceit, but his expression was frank and honest. 

If Jack was being honest with himself, he was a  _ little  _ bit curious about the other Guardians. Besides, if Pitch was still out there hurting kids…

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go.”

He ignored the bright smile the rabbit gave him, and the way it made his chest itch.

X X X X X

The North Pole was not what Jack expected.

The Snow Queen had spoken of the Guardians over the years. Meddlers, she had called them, who allowed their obsession with human children to cripple their power. Relatively strong spirits in their own rights, but so caught up in meaningless conversations of  _ right  _ and  _ wrong  _ that they weren’t able to amass any real influence over the world, spirit or otherwise.

Hearing all this, Jack had been startled that the rabbit’s domain was so vibrant, so full of magic.

When he stepped into the Warren for the first time, he was nearly knocked speechless. 

His first impression was of color and bright, constant sound. He had followed the rabbit in through gigantic front doors that opened up on a flurry of activity. There were creatures everywhere, huge and furry, shouting at one another in a language that Jack didn’t recognize. They were all working on hundreds and hundreds of…  _ toys _ . Jack saw trains and cars, dolls and hula hoops, mechanical helicopters and dinosaurs swooping low in the air. Bubbles and ribbons and multicolored fog came from every corner of the room, with whistles and snatches of music filling the air. 

It smelled overwhelmingly of gingerbread. 

“Phil!” 

Jack blinked out of his reverie to look back to the rabbit, who was waving one of the big furry creatures over. The creature- Phil- walked over, arms full of plastic doll arms.

“This is Phil, one of North’s top yetis,” the rabbit said over his shoulder to Jack. “Phil, this is Jack Frost. Are the others here already?”

Phil was looking at Jack intently, beady black eyes fixed on him in a way that made Jack a little nervous. He nodded, garbled something in that strange language, and then turned and marched into the chaos.

“C’mon, Frost,” the rabbit said, looking faintly amused as he turned to follow Phil.

Jack stayed as close to the rabbit as he dared. He kept his staff clutched close to his chest, gripping it with both hands as his gaze darted about the place, trying to make sense of everything. He had worn his cloak today, with the hood drawn up and low to hide his face. He had gotten in the habit of leaving it down in the Warren over the past week, because the sun had felt so nice, but he was grateful for what cover it gave him in this unfamiliar place.

Phil dumped the doll arms on an empty table that they passed by and then turned, leading them up the stairs and away from the main floor. Halfway up something small darted past Jack’s foot, threatening his balance. Jack froze, resisting the impulse to fire a blast of ice at it. Instead he just watched as whatever it was hopped down the stairs, the bell affixed to its hat tinkling with every step.

“One of the elves.” Jack turned to see the rabbit watching him. Phil was waiting at the top of the stairs, looking back with apparent curiosity on his furry face. Even though the rabbit couldn’t see his face, when Jack looked up at him, his expression seemed to soften. “They’re harmless. Everything in here is- it’s a little loud, I know, but nothing will hurt you.”

Jack scowled, dipping his head lower so the rabbit wouldn’t see, and didn’t respond. If the rabbit was disappointed, he didn’t say anything, and instead turned to continue following Phil.

They walked for several more minutes, turning down a long hallway. The sounds of the main workplace gradually faded, although the scent of gingerbread hanging low in the air never did. 

Finally, they reached a huge, beautifully embossed wooden door. Phil knocked on it, and then pulled on the handle, leaving it ajar for the rabbit and Jack to pass through.

“Thanks, Phil,” the rabbit said, strolling in. Jack hesitated outside, glancing at the yeti one last time before darting in after the rabbit. 

They entered into a sitting room decked out mostly in shades of rich, velvety red, and full of the strangest assortment of spirits that Jack had ever seen (which was saying something, considering he’d been a facet at the Winter Court for centuries). 

“Bunny and guest!” Jack’s vision was immediately taken up by a large, muscular man with white hair and a long beard. He was dressed from head to toe in the same shade of red as the room, and was beaming down at him. 

“Too loud, North,” the rabbit said, glowering at the man.

The man, North, flapped a huge hand at the rabbit dismissively. “Am introducing myself to guest! Hello, I am Nicholas St. North- please, call me North! And you must be Jack Frost! Come, sit and be comfortable!”

North spoke with a thick Russian accent that reminded Jack uncomfortably of the General Winter. He gripped his staff even tighter and reluctantly walked further into the room, following North and the rabbit towards the other spirits. 

There was a collection of sofas and armchairs circling a large, lit fireplace. Seated in the chair closest to the flames was a short, squat man who looked to be made entirely of some kind of glowing, golden sand.

“Jack Frost, that is Sandman,” North said, gesturing to the golden man, who waved at Jack with a bright smile. “And that is Tooth Fairy!”

“Hello,” said the final spirit, a beautiful woman who seemed to be half human, half hummingbird. Her feathers were entrancing shades of blues and greens, and her purple eyes were wide and curious as she peered at Jack.

North sat down in a large armchair. “Please, sit!” 

Jack glanced over at the rabbit, who flopped down on one of the sofas with a grunt. Hesitantly, Jack sat down in the plainest-looking wooden chair, drawing his cloak tighter about him. 

There was a bright chirp, and something suddenly darted up very close to his face. Jack gasped and jumped in his seat, gripping his staff but stopping before he could do anything drastic.

“Oh, get away from him!” cried the Tooth Fairy. “What have I told you about personal space?”

Jack stared at the little creature. It was a fairy, blue and green like the Tooth Fairy, as though she had been shrunk to a miniature size. Its tiny wings beat quickly, holding it in place so it could hover in front of Jack and look under his hood curiously. As Jack watched, it chirped again, head quirking to the side curiously.

“I’m so sorry.” The Tooth Fairy had risen and was hovering in front of Jack. “She’s normally much better behaved!”

“It’s alright,” Jack said quietly, still watching the little fairy. He hesitated, and then raised one hand to hold out, flat. The little tooth fairy looked at it, and then back to Jack, a question in her eyes. When Jack gave a tiny nod, it chirped excitedly and dropped to touch down on the center of his palm.

Jack was half afraid he would freeze the fairy on accident. It looked so small and fragile, sitting like that, hardly half the size of his hand. The Snow Queen would have never let something that frail into the Court. 

Despite his fears, the fairy sat down without any trouble, and beamed up at the Tooth Fairy from Jack’s hand, a pleased expression on her face.

“Are you sure? I can take her.” The Tooth Fairy was still hovering in front of Jack with a worried expression, wringing her hands. Jack realized with a start that she probably didn’t want her fairy anywhere near Jack, which was… fair. 

“She’s fine,” he said, and then held out his hand to her. “But you can-”

The mini fairy chirped shrilly and grabbed at Jack’s thumb, turning to glare up at him. Jack blinked, startled.

“Well.” The Tooth Fairy looked a bit uncertain, but she slowly backed away. “If it’s alright with you…”

“Little tooth fairy found new friend,” North said. “Sit down, Tooth, is alright. We have much to discuss!” 

Jack kept looking at the baby tooth fairy in his hand as the Tooth Fairy sat back down, entranced by the shine on her feathers. The fairy looked right back at him, eyes still wide and curious.

“Now then- Jack Frost.” Jack looked up from the fairy to see that everyone was staring at him.  _ Right, he had been brought here to serve a purpose.  _ “Bunny tells us that you are temporarily away from Winter Court.”

“Yes,” Jack said. He cupped the fairy with both hands and she settled down more securely, a warm weight on his palm. “The Snow Queen and I had- a disagreement. I think it best I take absence from the Court for the time being.”

“What disagreement?” the Tooth Fairy asked. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

The fairy in his hands squeaked. Jack looked down at its disapproving expression with a frown. 

“Right,” the Tooth Fairy said, sounding disappointed. “Sorry.” 

“I brought him along because he was looking for Pitch, too,” the rabbit said, swooping in before the awkward silence could settle any deeper. “I figured he might be able to help.”

“Yes!” North beamed at Jack. It was disconcerting to see someone who reminded Jack so much of the General smile like that at him. “Can you tell us why Snow Queen wanted Pitch?” 

Jack looked at him. He opened his mouth to answer, and then hesitated, thinking- was he betraying the Snow Queen? Speaking about her plans to people she had long considered opponents- would she find out, find some way to punish Jack despite the wards? He had no doubt that the Snow Queen’s power could get through eventually, she would keep pressing and pressing and slide as slowly as a glacier gliding across smooth terrain into-

“Frost?” Jack blinked, startled back to the moment by the rabbit’s voice. He was looking at Jack, a small frown on his face. “You don’t need to share.”

The fairy in Jack’s hand chirped. He looked down at her, and she twittered with what looked like concern, and Jack’s breath caught in his throat.

“She wants me to retrieve Pitch Black for her,” he said, looking back up at the Guardians and smoothing his expression. “General Winter brought her news of his creations.” 

“General Winter?” North’s voice was hard as he straightened in his chair. Jack eyed him warily.

“Yes. He brought samples of his nightmares, and said the sand was derived from- the Sandman.” Jack glanced at the Sandman to find the small man was already watching him closely, a serious expression on his face. “She ordered me to bring him to Court to answer for his impunity.”

“Pitch isn’t a winter spirit,” the rabbit said.

Jack raised his other hand and lightly pet the fairy’s head distractedly. “No,” he said. “But what he stands for is. Fear, darkness- the Queen has long wished to incorporate those spirits into her service.”

“The Queen wants to control things outside of winter?” the Tooth Fairy asked. “That would be a disaster.”

“Is not good news,” North agreed. He reached up to stroke his long beard, thoughtful. “I wonder if it is possible, even, Snow Queen controlling other kinds of spirits?”

“It is.” Jack hadn’t realized he’d spoken until everyone looked at him. He pressed back against the hard wood of his chair and kept his head down as he spoke. “The Snow Queen’s methods are effective. I have seen her- encourage- all kinds of spirits to swear themselves into her service.”

The Tooth Fairy’s wings fluttered. “What methods?”

Jack swallowed, feeling a chill settle across his shoulders. All at once the fairy in his hands let out a sharp squeak and darted up, wings fluttering into action. She was shaking, rubbing her arms as if to warm up, and Jack drew his hands away, horrified at himself.

“Oh!” The big Tooth Fairy was there in a moment, grabbing her fairy out of the air and cupping her close to her chest. “Are you alright?” 

The little fairy chirped her assent and tried to look at Jack, who turned resolutely away, feeling frost creep across his cheeks in shame.  _ Stupid, shouldn’t have tried to touch her, she always told him he didn’t have control over his powers- _

North clapped loudly, making everyone jump. “Is time for refreshments, I think!” he said with a forced grin. “I call yeti. Yeti!” 

The Tooth Fairy fluttered away as North stomped over to the door, taking the little fairy with her. Jack shoved his hands under the folds of his cloak, letting his staff rest across his knees. He half-wished he could just break it and be done with it. 

“Y’alright, Frostbite?”

Jack looked up at the rabbit, who was looking at him with concern. Jack wanted to snap at him, but he had already done enough damage for the day, so he just nodded and kept quiet. 

The yeti arrived with refreshments a few minutes later. They brought great trays of food, far too much for the five of them in the room. Most of the snacks were desserts- sugar cookies in the shapes of baubles and trees, delicate miniature cakes- but there was always a fair helping of fresh fruit, which the Tooth Fairy and the rabbit helped themselves to.

Jack sat and watched them, certain that it wasn’t for him, when something touched his shoulder. He jumped and looked up to see the same yeti from before, Phil, standing over him.

“What?” Jack asked when he said something. He watched Phil sigh, roll his eyes, and then press a hot mug into his hands. Jack looked down at the dark drink with a frown. “What is this?”

Phil said something else. Across the room, North chimed in with a translation. “Is hot chocolate! You like, yes?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said, hesitantly sniffing the drink. It smelled rich. 

The rabbit snorted from the couch, where he had a bowl of fruit lying next to him. He turned to accept his own mug from a yeti offering it to him. “What, you’ve never had hot cocoa before?” 

“No,” Jack said. Curious despite himself, he raised the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip.

It wasn’t as hot as he’d feared it be. It was, however, thick and warm and so sugary he opened his eyes wide and pulled away, startled. Only for a second, though- he went in for another drink immediately, savoring the taste and feel of it on his tongue. 

Across the room, North laughed loudly. “He likes it!”

Jack couldn’t even bring himself to glare at the man.

X X X X X 

Jack walked on his toes, balancing on the rough wood. A thick branch had fallen across the river, and Jack was crossing it carefully, a thin layer of frost spreading across the bark with every step.

“Oy, Frostbite!”

Jack paused. Before he could hop off the branch, the rabbit crested the hill, moving at an unhurried pace.

“Hey, careful up there,” he said as he approached. “I don’t want to have to try and get dye out of that cloak. You’ve got a visitor.”

Jack frowned, but before he could ask a small shape darted out from behind the rabbit and shot towards Jack, who took a startled step backwards.

“Oh!” He brought his hands up automatically and the fairy dropped into them, chirping in delight. Jack furrowed his brow as he looked at her. “What are you doing here?” 

The fairy pointed at Jack, then at herself, and beamed up at him.

“But,” Jack said. “I hurt you.”

The fairy’s purple eyes got big and wide. She hopped into the air, wings fluttering as she twirled. When she landed back in Jack’s hands and gave a small bow, Jack couldn’t help but smile, just a little bit. The motion felt foreign to him.

“Well,” he said. “If you’re sure.” He turned around and looked up at the rabbit, who was staring at him with an expression Jack couldn’t decipher. “How’d she get in?” 

“Jabbed at the earth until I heard her,” the rabbit said. “Right persistant, that one is.” His ear twitched as he backed away. “I’m going to go get lunch ready. I’ll leave you two to it.”

Jack watched him go, then turned back to the fairy. She hopped back in the air and flew around his head in quick circles that had him spinning around on the branch to keep track of her, thankful for his balance.

“You’re fast,” he said when she slowed down. She darted forward, quick, to tap the tip of his nose, and Jack pulled away with a grin. 

The fairy froze. She hovered in front of him, staring at Jack’s smile, which quickly faded into a frown. 

“What?” he asked, nervous he’d done something wrong.

The fairy shook her head and chirped. She flew forward again, touching the corner of Jack’s lips, then drew back to point to her own and gave him a huge, toothy smile. Still frowning, Jack raised his hand to touch his face.

“My… mouth?” The tooth fairy shook her head, and pointed resolutely at her own broad grin. “What? My- my teeth? Are you talking about my teeth?”

The fairy trilled and spun in a quick circle, and Jack smiled despite himself. It only widened when the fairy swooned in midair, neck dipping back, eyes fluttering.

“Stop it,” he said, aware that frost was creeping across his cheeks in a blush. The fairy giggled and flew forward to land on his shoulder, settling down into the crook of his neck with a contented chirp. “Hey, do you have a name?” 

There was a pause. The fairy chirped in a tone Jack took as ‘no.’ 

“Oh.” Jack crossed the branch and hopped off, landing lightly on the shore. “Well, you should have one, shouldn’t you? I mean, even I have a name.” 

He saw the fairy shrug out of the corner of his eye. Jack pursed his lips, thinking for a second. 

“The Tooth Fairy- she’s like your mother, yeah?” A pause, and then an affirmative chirp. 

Jack sat down, cross-legged in the grass, and reached up to take the tooth fairy into his hands. She looked up at him curiously as he drew her in front of him. “Could I call you Baby Tooth, then?” When the fairy just looked at him blankly he ducked his head away. “You’re right, sorry, that’s stupid.”

The fairy made an alarmed sound. She jumped up, coming to hover in front of Jack until he raised his eyes to look at her. When he did, she smiled broadly and nodded at him.

“Are you- are you sure?” Jack asked, uncertain. When she nodded again, he smiled, small and hesitant. “Well- alright. It’s nice to meet you, Baby Tooth.”

Baby Tooth squealed and performed such an energetic acrobatics performance it made Jack smile for the third time in his entire life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed :))


	9. Chapter 9

Aster dropped down into his tunnel, cursing loudly.

It was just his luck to go looking for Pitch and to get swarmed by a bunch of  _ summer  _ spirits instead. Everyone always said that winter spirits were the most violent, but Aster had a special hatred for the warmer ones. Winter was harsh, but at least those spirits had a bit of control. The summer spirits went absolutely  _ feral _ when they felt threatened. 

Not that Aster had threatened them. He had just gone poking around in a section of forest they considered to be theirs, and they hadn’t taken well to Aster’s suggestion they shove it where the summer sun didn’t shine.

By the time Aster got back to the Warren he was nearly growling. He kept a firm hold on his arm, where the buggers had gotten a good blow in (biting,  _ really _ ?), and headed straight for the Burrow, not looking forward to having to dig around for his first aid kit. He had stashed it in the library, he thought, after he had used it on Frost. 

That’s it. His shift was done; the others could go traipsing around the world looking for shadows from now on, but he was going to stay in his Warren and take a  _ nap. _

To his surprise, he saw the lights on in the Burrow as he approached. It was late, around the time that Frost would have found some tree to curl up under and fallen asleep. He certainly shouldn’t have been inside at this hour, and Aster found himself frowning as he pushed open the door.

Frost was sitting at the kitchen table, chin propped up on his hand. He straightened when Aster shouldered his way in, jumping to his feet as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Y’alright, Frostbite?” 

“Yes,” Frost said.

“What’re you still doing up?” Aster went to go grab a glass to pour himself some water, and grunted when he pulled his arm too far. 

He felt a cold breeze, and then suddenly Frost was right in front of him, white hair gleaming under the witch lights.

“You’re hurt,” he said. It almost sounded like an accusation. 

“Not really,” Aster said. His back was pressed against the counter, and for someone who didn’t enjoy coming within five feet of other people, Frost was certainly very much in his personal space. Not that Aster minded, it was just- different. “Couple’a summer spirits got a good hit in. It’s not bad.”

Frost stared at his arm until Aster got the message and shifted so he could see it. He was right; it wasn’t a bad injury, just deep enough to bleed. His fur was tinged red where the blood had spilled. 

Frost frowned, the expression tugging at the corner of his lips in a familiar way. It made Aster sad, sometimes, that he had never seen the boy smile. It didn’t sit right with him.

“Have you got medical supplies?” It came out a demand that Aster had to try very hard not to laugh at.

“Yes,” he said. “My first aid kit’s on the desk in my library, if you want to make yourself useful and go grab it.” When Frost just looked confused, he waved a hand towards the doorway and said, “Second room on the left.”

Frost hesitated a moment longer, darted a look at Aster’s bloody arm, and then scurried off.

Aster released a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He turned and finished grabbing the cup he’d been going for, filling it with water at the sink. He took several long, slow sips, then set the glass down. 

By the time Frost came back into the room, Aster had steadied himself again. “Thanks, mate,” he said when Frost set the box down on the table. “I’ve got it from here.”

Frost gave him a hard, flat look that did something funny to Aster’s chest, and then opened the box, peering inside it. He pulled out the bottle of antiseptic, a few sheets of sterilized gauze, and then looked back up at Aster. He raised his eyebrows and gestured to the chair beside him.

Aster sat.

“Does it need stitches?” Frost asked, turning to examine Aster’s arm again.

“No,” Aster said. “I heal fast. It just needs to be cleaned.”

Frost nodded. He opened the bottle and poured the antiseptic onto a piece of gauze, and then bent at the waist to touch Aster’s arm. Aster felt the chill even through his fur. It wasn’t as unpleasant as he thought it’d be.

Despite himself, when Frost brushed back his fur and touched the gauze to the wound, Aster hissed when it stung. Frost pressed the gauze against his skin and gave him a very unimpressed look.

“Hold still,” he said.

Aster was quiet while Frost cleaned his wound, his pale hands steady and firm. He was closer to Aster than he had ever voluntarily been, and even though the other spirit didn’t seem to care much, Aster couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed at it.

He smelled like mint. How could Aster not have noticed that before?

When he finished, Frost set aside the bloodied gauze and went to go get a bowl of water. He brought it back over and dipped a dish towel in it, ringing it out so it was damp but not soaked, and then started brushing at the fur that had gotten blood on it.

“Your library’s nice,” he said without looking at Aster.

Aster blinked. He had been so focused on staring at Frost’s neck- so pale and smooth- that he had to run over his words again before they made sense. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah. You’re welcome to use it whenever, if you’re a reader.”

Frost’s hands paused in their work. When he looked up at Aster with a question in his eyes, Aster said defensively, “What?”

Frost brushed the wet rag across Aster’s fur, and Aster had to repress a shiver at the chill. 

“You told me not to go any further into the Burrow.”

Aster frowned. “That was more of a guideline, not a hard rule,” he said. “Besides, you’ve been here a couple weeks now. If you want to grab a book from my library, you can.”

Frost didn’t say anything. When the fur was clean he silently wrapped a bandage around Aster’s arm, and when everything had been put away he disappeared off into the night.

Frost surprised him the next morning by joining Aster for breakfast.

Normally, Aster would make and eat his own breakfast, then leave a plate out for Frost to snatch long after Aster was long gone. This morning, however, Frost walked in while Aster was still cooking, and sat down at the kitchen table.

He wasn’t looking at Aster. Aster took the hint and silently poured him a cup of tea, sliding it to him along with his plate of avocado toast.

Aster was tending to his vegetable garden that day, checking for weeds and encouraging the veggies that weren’t doing too well to grow just a little bit bigger. He paused when he saw Frost approaching, but the other spirit didn’t come over to speak with Aster. Instead he sat under the tree nearest Aster, curled up in the shade, and opened a book to read.

Aster turned back to his celery to hide his smile.

“I don’t understand it,” Frost admitted quietly over dinner a few days later. The book lay on the table in front of him, with its blue cover and gold embossed spine. “He was so rude to her, and she just- forgave him.” 

“Darcy was too proud,” Aster said, poking at his salad. “Once he proved that he had gotten over that, Elizabeth realized that she loved him.”

“Still,” Frost said, “he said all those awful things about her family.”

“You think he should never be forgiven, then?”

“No, but I think he was a little too rich for it to be a coincidence.”

That startled Aster into a laugh, and the lines around Frost’s eyes eased up, just a little bit.

They settled into a new routine. Aster still went about his work as usual, but now he had a pale shadow on his heels. When he worked in the garden or with his plants, Frost would settle in the nearest spot of shade and read. When he painted, whether on canvas or on his googies, Frost would sit down a little closer to him. He still read, but sometimes Aster would look up to find Frost was watching him, studying his brush strokes with a kind of quiet intensity.

At one point, they each received new names.

“That’s beautiful, Easter Bunny,” Frost murmured, looking over Aster’s shoulder at the landscape he was working on.

Aster dipped his brush into the green and dabbed it on the canvas. “Aster,” he said, and was pleased when his voice came out steady and not like his heart was currently in his throat.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Aster.”

Frost went quiet, and for a moment Aster thought he had messed the whole thing up.

“Your painting is beautiful, Aster,” Frost’s voice said behind him. And then, quieter- “Will you call me Jack?”

Jack it was, then.

X X X X X

“Tooth thinks you’re going to steal the little sheila away.”

They were eating a picnic lunch, egg sandwiches and cold juice, on a hill overlooking the river. Jack had shed his cloak in favor of soaking in the sun, and while the dark undershirt still didn’t seem to fit the picture he painted sitting there, it was a step in the right direction.

“Baby Tooth?” Jack took a bite of his sandwich and chewed, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know why she keeps visiting, either.”

“Not what I said, ya drongo.”

“You know,” Jack said, “I think you make most of those words up.” 

“Oy,” Aster said, glaring at the satisfied expression on Jack’s face. He pursed his lips, then grinned. “Buckley’s chance of getting me to stop, ya galah, I’m a bruce through and through, fair dinkum.”

“You-” Jack blinked. “You made that up.”

Aster shrugged, trying not to  _ look  _ too pleased with himself.

Then he froze, because on Jack’s face was the smallest smile Aster had ever seen. 

Immediately, Jack noticed Aster’s expression and his smile disappeared. Aster felt a distinct sense of loss, as though someone very close to him had died. 

“What?” Jack asked, sounding self conscious.

“Nothing,” Aster said. “Sorry. It’s just- your smile.”

“What about it?” Jack reaches up to touch his lips, still looking painfully uncertain. “Is it my teeth? Baby Tooth always gets weird about my teeth.”

“Your teeth? No. No, it’s nothing bad, mate, it’s- I’ve never seen you smile before. It’s nice.”

“Oh,” Jack said. He looked back down at his sandwich. “Oh.” His cheeks, Aster noticed, were covered in a very thin sheen of frost. 

They went back to eating, quietly, and Aster was left feeling as though he had just put his very large foot in his very small mouth.

“She’s going to want me back.”

Jack’s words were sudden, and made Aster frown. “What?”

“The Snow Queen,” Jack said. He was gazing out at the river, carefully not looking at Aster. “She can’t get me, here, but the second I leave she’s going to sense it and find me.”

Aster put down his sandwich. “Are you thinking of leaving?”

“No,” Jack said, “but I’ll have to, eventually.”

“You don’t have to,” Aster said. When Jack looked at him, he continued more firmly, “You could stay here forever, if you wanted. Or- as long as you wanted.” 

Jack smiled again. This time it was tinged with sadness, but he looked at Aster when he did it.

“Aster,” he said. “I can’t stay here forever.”

Aster blinked at him. Right, that was- he was being stupid, wasn’t he?

Something in his thoughts must have shown on his face, because suddenly Jack was leaning closer, and a pale, thin hand touched Aster’s paw. “I don’t mean- not that I don’t like it here,” Jack said. That frost was back, glowing on his cheekbones. “I do. Like it here, I mean. I like it a lot. But- I can’t stay here forever, I want- I’ve never been-”

Aster twisted his paw, flipping it so he could curl his fingers around Jack’s. “You need to go outside,” he said. “ _ Actually  _ outside. I understand.”

Jack’s smile was relieved now. Aster wished he could paint it.

“Jack,” he said, carefully, because Jack’s hand was cool in his, and his smile was so gentle. “Why did you join the Winter Court?”

Jack’s fingers tensed, but he didn’t pull away like Aster thought he would. “I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t join the Winter Court,” Jack said, simply, like his words weren’t sinking like heavy stones into Aster’s stomach. “The Queen found me.”

“She- found you.” 

“Right after I woke up.”

Aster let go of Jack’s hand even though that was the last thing he wanted to do, and turned to face him. It was suddenly very important that he got his words right. “Jack,” he said. “Do you remember who you were before you were Jack Frost?”

Jack frowned at him, looking confused. “I wasn’t anyone before I was Jack Frost.”

Aster searched his face, hoping- somehow- that he was lying. “How long were you alone before the Snow Queen found you?” 

“What?”

“How long after you woke up did the Snow Queen find you?”

Jack opened his mouth, and then closed it. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Five minutes, maybe?” He gazed off at something Aster couldn’t see. “The moon was there.”

Aster suddenly felt very cold, as though he had been plunged into an ice bath. Everything was beginning to make horrible, horrible sense.

“Five minutes,” he repeated. “You woke up- not remembering who you were before- and five minutes passed before the Snow Queen found you. And she- what, brought you to Court?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Why are you asking all this now?”

“Because-”

“You said I could stay,” Jack said. He crossed his arms, suddenly looking very young, and very, very nervous. “You said I could stay here as long as I wanted.” 

“I know I- what?”

“You said I could stay,” Jack repeated. He lifted his chin. “You already knew I served the Snow Queen. You- what, are you going to kick me out now?”

“Jack, no, what are you- don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not  _ stupid _ .”

“I’m not calling ya stupid!”

“You just did!”

Aster took a deep, steadying breath. “Look, Jack, will you just-”

It was too late. Jack jumped to his feet with that surprising grace Aster somehow always managed to forget about. Seconds later he was gone, leaving nothing but an empty spot on the blanket and a half-eaten sandwich behind.

Aster sighed heavily into the silence. “Well, that went well,” he said. 

X X X X X

Aster was having trouble sleeping. 

It was rare that he slept all the way through the night, anyways, but he had been hoping for at least a few hours. He had too many thoughts swirling around in his head, and if he laid there thinking about them for much longer he thought he might finally crack and go crazy. Aster hoped that he wouldn’t, because he was pretty sure North and Sandy had bets out for when that would happen, and he didn’t want either of them to win.

When Aster heard a noise from the tunnel leading to his nest, he stayed still. His fingers itched towards the spare boomerang he kept hidden under his blankets. Then he sniffed, and got the distinct scent of mint, and relaxed. 

Aster let him stand there in the doorway for a full two minutes before he sat up and looked at him. “What is it, Jack?” he asked. His whisper sounded like a shout in the silence.

He saw Jack’s silhouette twitch. “Sorry,” he said after a long moment. “I- I am so sorry. I’ll go, this is weird-”

“No,” Aster said, before Jack could turn and disappear back down the tunnel. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t sleeping anyways.” He leaned forward, as far as he could go, and patted the blankets. “Want to sit?”

Jack didn’t move. Aster was just about to open his mouth and apologize right back at Jack, when the winter spirit moved forward and sat down carefully on the edge of Aster’s bedding. 

They were both quiet for a long minute. Aster wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. The air felt thick with something he couldn’t place, something he seemed to have forgotten, and he didn’t know how to start remembering.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, his voice hushed. “For earlier. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Jack brought his knees up to his chest, curling in a ball at the foot of Aster’s nest. “I don’t know why I got upset,” he admitted. “I don’t- I didn’t know I could.”

“What does that mean?”

Jack tucked his chin in and looked at Aster, even though Aster knew he wouldn’t be able to see him well. That was the downfall of being a human spirit- bad eyesight. Aster could see Jack. He was painted in shades of greys and blacks, and his eyes looked too dark, but Aster could see him. 

“What do you know about the Snow Queen?” he asked.

“Not much,” Aster said. “I mean- I know the stories.”

“What are the stories?”

“Well,” Aster said. “She used to kidnap human children. That’s the story that the humans told about her, anyways.”

“And what would she do with the children?”

Aster frowned, because he didn’t like Jack’s tone of voice. It was flat, emotionless like it hadn’t been in several weeks.

“She would kiss them,” Aster said. “One to make them forget, two to numb-”

“And three to kill them.” Jack nodded. “Aster- I’ve been kissed twice.”

Aster stared at him in the darkness. Maybe he was sleeping, because this all felt like a dream. “Huh?”

“One to make me forget,” Jack said. “Two to make me numb.”

“You’re not numb.” Jack snorted, and Aster felt something like anger flare in his chest. “You’re not  _ numb _ , Jack. Don’t be- silly.” 

“I’ve done awful things.”

“So have I. So have  _ all  _ of us. Hell, North was a bandit king.”

Jack shook his head. “Aster, I’m- I was cruel, at Court. I couldn’t feel anything.” He reached up and pressed both of his hands to his chest. “I still can’t feel things properly.”

“That’s not true. You- I’ve seen you smile. You’re great with Baby Tooth.”

“But I can’t  _ feel _ it, Aster, it’s like- it’s like I’m experiencing things in a state of hypothermia, okay? Like, yeah, the emotions are there, or at least they should be there, but I don’t feel like they’re mine. They feel separate from me.” 

“That doesn’t mean you’re- that you’re  _ numb _ , whatever the hell that means.” 

“Then what does it mean?” 

It was warm in Aster’s nest, too warm, and he suddenly wished that Jack would get a little bit closer so he could feel his chill. 

“Aster,” Jack continued, and Aster was grateful because he hadn’t been able to think of an answer yet. “I came to tell you- if I am numb, and if I’m never going to be able to feel things properly, I should just go back to the Winter Court.” Aster frowned, but before he could say anything, Jack said, “I should go back to Court, but I don’t- I don’t  _ want  _ to, Aster.” 

Aster felt his heart in his chest, heavy, pounding. He wanted to make Jack feel it. He wanted to press his cold hands to Aster’s chest, and then to his, and make him feel his own heartbeat, because Aster knew it was there, wrapped though it might be in that dark fabric Jack always drew around himself. Aster could still remember the way Jack had looked, jumping into danger to save the human child. He remembered Jack’s expression when he had told him about the children Pitch was frightening, the way he looked at Baby Tooth with so fragile, desperate fondness. He knew Jack had a heart, that he wasn’t numb, even though Jack seemed convinced otherwise.

Aster couldn’t do that, or say any of that. Jack was growing more comfortable around Aster, but he was still skittish, and didn’t seem to want to touch him for longer than a few seconds. Any serious conversation sent him scurrying away at the first opportunity. This was the closest Aster had come to the truth of Jack Frost, and he still felt horribly, horribly confused.

“Then you won’t,” Aster said, when the silence had stretched on for a little too long. “You won’t go back to Court. And you won’t stay here, either, you’ll- you’ll go wherever you want to go.”

Jack was quiet. He looked so small curled up at the foot of Aster’s nest like that. “I’d like to see the Mediterranean Sea,” he said, sounding wistful.

“I’ll take you,” Aster said. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t respond, but he did sigh, so quietly Aster nearly didn’t pick it up. They fell silent.

After a few more minutes, Aster laid back down, drawing the blankets back over him. He waited for Jack to leave. He didn’t. He didn’t come any closer, keeping several careful feet of distance between them, but as Aster drifted back to sleep, it was to the soft sounds of Jack breathing. 

When Aster woke in the morning, Jack was gone, leaving behind only a cold dip in the blankets where he had slept.

As Aster went to get up, he paused, and sniffed. No, Jack had left something else behind- the faintest scent of hope. It was thin, and Aster was afraid for it because it could be so broken so easily, but it was there, and it tasted like sweet mint on Aster’s tongue.

Could a numb person have hope? 


End file.
